January Burlesque
Let the elect enjoy their offices.
Stripped to the nerves we feel chaos
created for distraction
from criminal acts, we who are cold, in
mourning for a woman
named Good. Let the elect buy Greenland,
an island looks large on flat maps,
holds minerals in ice sheet. Zap.
Our leaders are immune to cold.
Souls already dead, bodies old,
well-fed yet hungry for more jewels
to fit into the crown, jowls
jangly as left-up Christmas lights,
trigger happy, ready to kill on sight
anyone who fits the description
not-white. Not-a-man.