Sad Truth, a poem

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We're not going to get rid of Trump
because Trump is an archetype.
Trump was already here
long before we voted him into office.
He was more like a transparent pink bear
but he was here,
filling up tons of space,
being bombastic
throwing his weight around,
baiting us in dreams that we repressed,
letting us know there were big holes in our dystopia,
the Benighted States of America.
He, or his aura, were around
swimming across the screen of everyday.
Long before the Republican Party
made him magically appear in the flesh
he was a big floater in our eye.
(But this floater is a b*tch, man!)
And you know what the doctor says
when you get a floater?
"You'll get used to it."
And aren't we? Getting used to being bullied,
lied to? Used? Impotent?
Used to living on the edge,
used to feeling ashamed
used to being shocked by our own sheepishness.
Emergency after emergency after emergency!
The pink bear, the annoying floater,
call it Trump, or whatever you want.
Call it the new reality show of shows,
call it the ubiquitous traveling circus,
the new all-day all-night show.
Call it the last act in the theater of fools
where there is no curtain
and no exits, and there is some guy
shouting "Fire!" "Fire!"
And everyone looks straight ahead with knitted brows.
But relax, it's just a dream.
It's just a poem.
It's just another daydaydaydayday. . . .

(Article changed on November 30, 2017 at 22:21)

(Article changed on December 1, 2017 at 00:34)