Category: electoral process
Poof* Take MY water

Paris in the rain
a woman’s life
is too tenuous
delicate
billowy
spider web
close call on I-75
in preterm labor
on the way to the
Paris airport
in the rain
fragile
beautiful
precious
sacrosanct
finite
for bad friends
bad family
bad coffee
bad shoes
bad mattresses
bad jobs
bad husbands
bad debt
and bad dick
learn this by 30 for maximum
enjoyment
future
female
conquerors
of a dying planet
of thee I sing
the true measure
of a civilized society
are the rumors
told by its ghosts
trudged out of bed
late this morning
not willing to join
this new shaken world
to find my twin sons
seated on the couch
with furrowed brows
tears in their reddened eyes
they’ve endured bullying at school
for being autistic
the whole of their twenty-year-old lives
how horrified they were earlier this year
when they saw a presidential candidate
make fun of a disabled person
during a campaign speech
now that candidate has won the presidency
my sons asked me,
“Mom, we’re scared. How could this happen?”
“How could Americans elect a bully?”
“How will we be safe?”
“Will we be allowed to go to college?”
“Will we be institutionalized?”
answer them, mr. president-elect…
i am a mother
i am a woman
i will unleash hell
before your eyes
my generation had no great war
until the towers fell
and the government invented one
then we were told
it’s not our fight
beyond the departures gate
at the airport
our struggle is removing our shoes
and grabby TSA agents
we never grew a victory garden
we never salvaged all our metal to make bullets
or watched the soldierly Vietnam death toll
march across the bottom of our television screens
we were raised by Atari systems, Pop Rocks, Sweet Valley High books,
and Bob Barker’s skinny microphone
so forgive me, my fellow
generationally x’d out americans
if i don’t give a shit
about your opinions on the upcoming election
should you ever
find yourself
.
to be a woman feeling
beautiful enough
to command roman legions
and the cosmos itself
.
strolling through
the french quarter of new orleans
behind a coffin carrying procession
of voodoo gods
.
only to have the most striking man
you’ve ever laid eyes upon
dressed in a meticulous black suit
black shirt
black cowboy suits
an accent more Creole than high southern
whose face you’ve seen
in the arts section of the paper
take your arm gently
and offer to make love to you for one night
perfectly
because the sight
of a woman coming
is the catalyst for all art
.
you pretend to buy his line of shit
and do it
accept this divine spirit of volunteerism
for god, Joan of Arc, and every ballsy woman from Dolly Parton to Dolly Madison
.
enjoy the hell out of it
.
after all
women didn’t get the right to vote
nationwide until 1920
.
we deserve a wee bit of recompense