For the America that could have been
~inaugural poem for Donald J. Trump
When I piss in the shower,
I piss for America,
for a world without water
and a body nearly too tired to stand.
Somewhere an entire city boils,
spooning their showers
from a hissing toilet tank.
When I jerk off at work,
I jerk off for America,
watching my semen like hot snot
slide its way into the mouth
of a white porcelain sink.
This is true happiness,
job security like a throbbing hard-on
begging to be stroked
while the homeless shoplift
bottles of mouthwash
to chug themselves into the hospital.
I order my cheeseburger medium well.
I order my cheeseburger for America,
an America of FDA-approved cancer,
and reality TV politicians,
movie star presidents,
where you can add “gate” to the end of anything.
I welcome my labored breath,
the coming numbness
of hemispherical lightning,
being fed through a tube.
I welcome the odor of the hoarders
and their living room of pungent chaotic comforts
that will become my life of isolationism
and hermit crab-like skittishness.
I will become a nicotine patch.
I will become my favorite NFL logo.
I will become the half-eaten doughnut
left in the box at the AA meeting.
I will become the opposite of content,
wrapped in a trauma blanket,
rustling like a pile of leaves
with something hidden underneath.
America, when I shriek, I shriek for thee.