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The Trump Card Of The Masses
Whatever shall we become?
Politic: “seemingly sensible and judicious under the circumstance”
I’m singing the body politic —
We the people, we the ruled
News abounds of possible
assassinations, new world wars,
and new world orders.
We have no control.
We never did.
My Black body has been bought, bartered for
targeted, neglected, disrespected: Now
everyone’s will.
The Trump card is this:
Become a roach:
burrow beneath your tents
forget rent.
Stop climbing corporate ladders,
you’ll never reach the top.
Stop voting — you’ll forever be disappointed.
Be the roach —
retreat to the shadows, buy your
tiny home, grow your own food
find your own food,
avoid the burning light of politics
at all costs.
You will survive this.
The humans won’t.
I was in part inspired by the show Fallout and Emily Dickinson’s life as she lived through the Civil War. She felt distanced from it, yet at the same time she reconciled world truths through her poetry. Thank you for reading!
