day TWO HUNDRED and TWENTY TWO

I Dream: America Trumped

Last night I had a dream,
   more like a nightmare.
What I saw was the newly elected president
   rape the American people under a cloudless sunny sky
   surrounded by both supporters and opposers
   doing nothing but staring with mouths gaping wide open
   like waiting for clouds to emerge from the heavens
   and fill their gullets with sweet salinated tears of God.

This misogynistic destructive dream man,
   a singular man I remind you,
   made the the entirety of this country's people 

   his ventriloquist puppet bitch.
He clumsily slid his small childlike hand
   deep into our rectal cavity.
A snicker grew across his face
   as his hand moved bloody innards aside
   and pushed past organs like societal classes;
      blue collar class stomach,
      rich white pancreas,
      working woman kidneys,
      the "hood" born intestinal track,
      past tissue connected by stretched veins and arteries
         like the long I-75, 

                  the classic Route 66, 

                              the massive JFK International, 

                                        they mighty Mississippi.

Don't worry. He will patch up the diaphram
   and make Mexico pay for it.
Then the Americans, just a shell of who they once were,
   grunted and winced in pain as the arm inside him
   came to rest along side single parent vertebrae,
   the backbone of this nation.
With a tug on ligaments and sinew
   called love, hope,strength and willpower,
   he made the country's lips move with ease
   and spoke his voice from their lips.
Modern day magic from a master illusionist.

Afterwards we, the people, take a long hot shower,
   fall into bed, curl up into a fetal position and cry,
   because funding has stopped for morning after centers.
Then the counting begins:
      hours, minutes, seconds
   until Trump would rape us again.

--Craig Firsdon