Wednesday, August 30, 2017

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                                               

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