74

A child playing with his toys sits taught.
He doesn’t move, yet resonates with anger.
A slow, tense turn begins to show his thoughts.
All of his friends now notice they’re in danger.
“You bumped my house, and made it fall!” he shouts.
“And now I have to use the one that’s old.”
“I didn’t touch it, you knocked everything out,”
Says Ryan, surprised that Don’s being so cold.
The two are friends, they always play such games,
So why does little Ryan take the fall?
It seems that Donald cannot take the blame
Though he’s the one that drove us at a wall
He can not take responsibility.
What happened? Where is the humility?
SF

65

One tweet from before the fail, one after
Distracting from the legislative slump;
While we wait for what happens hereafter,
We recount the inventory of Trump.
Ivanka’s clan escapes certain disaster,
To Aspen’s slopes, and her father’s dismay.
For Trump, repeal too arduous a task;
ACA lives to see another day.
The unprecedented demagogue speaks
Words of assurance to the populace;
He assures them of his big plans, in tweets.
There is no bottom to his pompousness.
He’s claims they’re strides to come, these grave missteps,
As dissenters berate him as inept.
—OS, NN, JD

63

What’s neat tends toward disorder, we are told.
A tree, felled once, will not unfold again.
The burning pile will flare and fall and then
The heat will dissipate. The coals go cold.
And this is why, they say, the truly bold
Choose just to light it up, lean in to pain,
To throw the switch and just derail the train;
The tear-down is the natural way. We’re told.
If that’s the case, though, note how often stumps
Are green under the bark, fed through the roots
By neighbors. Smolders smothered without air
Beneath the blackened soil will flare like lamps
When every last white ash has followed suit,
And entropy gives way to webs of care.
—IC

50

Machines are sinister by nature, even
Those made by nature, mandibles and hives
Of droning ants. The things that work by weaving
Their parts and joints loom strange at night. We live
Beside them, in their oxygen, these systems
Efficient, model all our works on them,
Subsume our chafe-worn hearts to them, each symptom
Returning us that creeping, clicking hum.
We long to bring the pillars down, burn woodwork,
Declare our freedom and repeal the mandate
That we must hold a part in all this clockwork,
Must yoke ourselves together in this stalemate.
And though it make them play the fool with death,
There will be a few who fight by holding breath.
—IC