Saturday, December 31, 2016

On the Election of Donald J. Trump

On the Election of Donald J. Trump

The genie
can not be re-
bottled;
Go back
to your country!
he shouted,
attacking
the Muslim officer
and her
teenaged son.
The law and order party.
Right.

The hate
can not be
bottled and sold, or
can it? For
hasn’t our
Tweeter-elect
done just that?

He sold
the white man
a load
of crap
about Other
and Self,
us and them;
how was America
not great, again?

Right:
the white man
is dying
and no one cares,
or nobody?
You too?

Opiods,
suicide,
drink -
these
are the methods
of choice
for the chosen.

No jobs in Appalachia,
but there never were.

Coal country
is dying
and nobody cares.

The planet
is dying
and nobody cares.

Make America Hate Again
Make America White Again

But there is no again about this;
the genie never had a bottle,
just drifted underground
with his sheets and crosses,
heil salutes and lügenpresse.

And now? Now
he can rear his ugly head
in public again,
prodded awake
by the Pussy Grabber-elect.

Alt-right indeed. Simply
a lifestyle choice
for the dying;
by twenty forty three
America will be
majority-minority.

These the death throes
of a once great race.

As if.

We killed
the indigenous.

We enslaved
the black (wo)man
and her children’s children’s children.

We interred
the Japanese. We
invaded,
mutilated,
raped,
scalped,
pillaged,
burned,
hanged,
imprisoned,
beheaded,
whipped,
strip-searched,
waterboarded,
poisoned,
amputated,
the bodies
of Other.

People.
The earth.
It’s all the same to us –
means instead of ends
in,
and of,
themselves
as we were admonished.

But Kant is dead
and so are we;
our insides hollowed out.

What of my life,
asks the poor white.

True enough,
but you don’t get there
through hate and rage;
Other is Self
and Self, Other.
Our mother,
the earth,
demands respect
and so must
her children.

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