Seems my tears are good
for nothing but to salt
corn on the cob the hired
help shucks to get me
thinking about something
other than that porn star
one-hundred-thirty-thousand
dollars richer for keeping
her mouth shut both during
and after my husband
sodomized her right after
we were married. You too?
I’m not immune to feeling
shame. I don’t wear black
tonight not because I don’t
identify in some small way
with the rest of you—no!—
but I too am a Dreamer
decked out in a Christian
Dior cream-colored suit,
my Dolce Gabbana blouse
a nod to humbled privilege
just South of the Tyrol
where no one could ever
imagine building a wall
let alone asking the public
to pay for it! He promises
unity yet sows discord!
What exactly does the meme
of a North Korean refugee
holding up a crutch mean
in the middle of a speech
no one will remember by
morning when everyone
opens their phones to scores
of fact-checked lies as he
tweets more fake news to his
37% approval-rated base?
Fuck Davos! I’m getting used
to taking a separate car
on that short journey from
here to wherever I’ve never
been able to quite call home …
Of course the Chinese see me
gussied up as an angel of death—
raccoon-eyed and diaphanous
under heavy pomade and
camouflage, hovering here
in the balcony like a helicopter
straight out of Apocalypse Now—
blasting some inaudible tune
with no safe place to land.