"The Childe...More restless than the swallow in the skies..." -Lord Byron, Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

Wednesday, November 16, 2016

A Poem for the President-Elect

Dear Donald Trump

You are my apprentice now.
I am we.
We are the people.
You belong to the people now.
You are paid by us.
You hold power by our consent.
You are not prepared for us—
No president-elect ever is.
Prepare for 4 to 8 years of
Being at the beck and call
Of the vox populi.
We command you from the angry
Right and left;
We cry to you from the fearful
Middle. We are the hungry
Monster of the status quo—
With glaring eyes
And sliding fingers
And opening mouths.
We, each and every
I, say
You are my apprentice now.

The Master

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