for Maria Stadnicka
May fancies Corbyn:
Now there’s a man who can mount a real campaign !
His red lapel rose for this moment
glasses tilted on his nose
oblivious to the Tory moos, bringing the house to laughter
for a moment thinks, in spite of herself
If we could run this country together
(her husband’s face floating up into the stratosphere)
I wouldn’t have to be nasty to him—
I can’t explain…something has changed
I am not the woman I thought I was anymore,
the wolves are howling outside the door
they are the future we ignored
and I long to be one of them.
I’m so sorry I’ve been such a bitch,
there’s so much I want to tell you.
We are the same age, after all.
Your place or mine ?
Trump is shot by a madman
a one-shot to the head
from somewhere in Mexico
a drone bullet the size of a worn pencil.
There’s no saving him
inside he’s nothing, there’s no stuffing,
but old cupboards and shoeshine
the vanity of the self-made man
a torn rag of newspaper. Already
it seems years ago. America is
Humpty Dumpty caught in a net
by tribal women from Avatar.
The next President is painting the White House green,
while crowds pelt him with steaks.
June 13th 2017