He is on the throne
created with lies and humiliation.
Upholstered with
the fabric of souls
who trusted his anger
would provide for them
protect them
hear them
beyond the wild rallies
of foment that brought
him to this powerful place.
The seat is fraying
and the structure is tottering —
ready to break in pieces
of disgust, disappointment, despair.
The month closes
marked by the equinox
promise of spring.
Tarnished with the constant
upheaval within the white house —
unable to gain any traction
of positive momentum
toward governing.
School yard practices
prevail on a daily basis
as the commander-in-chief
plays with tweeting urgency —
promoting falsehoods
undermining government protocols
and good manners.
In a dark room, television aglow
his inner fire ignites —
absorbed by the pompous and
preposterous commentary
that sets the stage for his next
late night, obsessive
communication to the masses.
Does he sleep?
The world has become insomniacs —
dreading, yet, awaiting
the next quick-fire rage of words
to bolster his sagging ego.
It is hard to look away
from this continuing soap opera.
“Sad!” he says, and it is true.
We are trapped in this
mindless, vexing scenario.
No escaping, for it will not be long
before another tweet or lie or “disaster”
will be thrown at us.
We are hooked and exhausted.
