47th President Poem: Trump Country, by Skyler Lambert

Spray-tanned figurehead
salts and loads fry orders
tends McDonald’s drive-thru
in a ridiculous ratings draw.
We can’t help but watch

the Doomsday Clock
tick closer to midnight
tick, climate catastrophe
tick, artificial annihilation
tick, nuclear neutralization
tick, complete stillness.

It seems silly to elect
a mythic media mogul
so prude we hopelessly
tune in to believe. Yet,
this is America, land
of the free (whites)
home of the brave

underclass resistance.
In this country, we
praise the powerful
spit on the socialists
watch the world burn
from comfy couches.
In this country, we

cage children because
they’re the wrong color
tell people to give birth
because God said so
erase identities outside
the gender binary. Life

viewed through a binary
lens will always gift us
two poor choices. True
independence rings in
hearts of children raised
to grow into themselves.