Charlie W. Brice
The Trumpet Shall Sound
After Theodore Roethke
Melania appears in stiletto heels,
Hurricane or not, you can still make deals.
Commerce revolves on a gigantic wheel,
And Trump sits atop it.
McConnell and Ryan he says are bums.
He doesn’t need them, he’s a party of one.
His political affiliation is narcissism.
And Trump sits atop it.
You’re fine if you hate and have a gun,
If America Great means immigrants gone,
If soundbites and slogans are your only song.
And Trump sits atop it.
Healthcare for all’s a messy affair.
Insurance for the wealthy few seems more fair.
Who needs insurance when you’re a billionaire?
And Trump sits atop it.
They want to impeach me, but I’ll show them.
I’ll nuke North Korea and fry me a Kim.
I’ll still make a profit and so will my kin,
And I’ll proudly sit atop it.
Charles W. Brice is the author of Flashcuts Out of Chaos (WordTech Editions, 2016) and Mnemosyne’s Hand (WordTech Editions, 2018). His poetry has appeared in The Atlanta Review, Hawaii Review, Chiron Review, The Dunes Review, SLAB, Fifth Wednesday Journal, Sport Literate, The Paterson Literary Review, VerseWrights, and elsewhere.
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