day TWO HUNDRED and TWENTY THREE

melania’s shoes

it’s not about the shoes

melania

i couldn’t care less if you

want to wear your fuck-me stilettos

into a hurricane ravaged part of the country

wear them all the way to antarctica

and see how you do

prancing across another broken ice shelf

you mail-order bride

by way of keeping up with the kardashians

no, i only care about how you stand there silently

next to that climate changing

racist moron that you call a husband

that we call the president

how do you sleep at night, melania,

having to hear his cheeseburger, apnea snores

after he’s rolled his big, orange body off of you?

do you ever think about grab ‘em by the pussy?

do the infidelities get stuck in your head huffing in

his steak and ketchup breath

after another twitter love session with the neo-nazis?

or do you just think about buying shoes

leather calf-highs or a comfy pair of slip-ons

roll your eyes and say

that’s just donald being donald

as he bans transgender people from the military

pardons some geriatric bigot

and waxes poetic about killing off DACA

did you feel like a fraud

in that FLOTUS hat, baby?

because you and your husband don’t stand for america

you gold-plated charlatans don’t stand for shit

so keep wearing your shoes, mama

wear them through hurricanes and blizzards

wear them through typhoons and the plague

tramp

tramp

tramp

through the shit waters of that man’s corroded legacy

you’ve already won, melania

at forty-seven you’ve found the golden ticket

because rumor has it

he thinks all women are done

after they hit the ripe old age

of thirty-five

so work it girl

work it for freedom.    

--John Grochalski