Sarah over at dverse asks us to write about things that creep and crawl, so I thought I would resurrect these two poems. (The one below was inspired by a fly that appeared on Mike Pence’s head during a vice presidential debate back in the glory days of demagoguery.)
The Fly on Top of Mike Pence’s Head Speaks
It’s so white up here. What’s that fragrance? Is it Rogaine? Is it piety? Is it Rogaine and piety? You seem a little nervous around the women folk, Mike. Can I recommend a good conditioner?
the only one between me and the magaleptic mob, a zaftig army in dollar store camouflage, is Mike Pence
their fists are raised to the spacious skies there’s spittle on their lips anger and atavism in their eyes
this does not bother me a rock hits the wrought iron gate behind me this also does not bother me I’m staring into an open cooler containing ten tall cans of craft pale ale and a bag of frozen shrimp and I can see that the ice is melting way faster than I expected this bothers me
Go through the gate, Mike yells Go through the gate But Mike, I reply, I need more ice for the shrimp! Forget the fucking shrimp, Mike yells Go through the gate and I’m thinking, Mrs. Pence would not like that kind of language
I look down at the shrimp and imagine them curled and pink on my plate with a dash of soy a dash of sriracha another rock hits the wrought iron gates they swing open onto a long driveway that leads up to a large mansion which I know in the strange logic of dreams is a house of consequence I know this is the house of Richard Nixon
I turn to Mike who is bleeding from the forehead and clutching the nuclear football like a quarterback waiting for someone to run a pattern and I say Hey Mike, I wonder if Mr. Nixon has a freezer.
Do you know who I miss? Jeb Bush. I miss Jeb Bush. He was my first. When I hit him with that low energy jibe and he fell apart and all the Bush family could not put Humpty together again, I knew I was on to something. Then Little Marco and Lyin’ Ted, I miss them too. But most of all, I miss Hillary, Crooked Hillary. Man, she was tough, had me on the ropes. It took Comey and Vlad, that pointy headed villain, to get me back on my feet. I was nearly out for the count, which might not have been a bad thing. Who needs this shit! I should give Vlad a call, I’m a bit worried -there’s no such thing as a free hack.
Reince Priebus – what kind of fucking name is that? It sounds like bad news from the doctor. “I’m sorry, Donald, you have a Reince Priebus on your rectum and it doesn’t look good”. Ha, I just made myself laugh. And Bannon, I’ve seen sofas on the side of the road in better shape than that rumpled fucker. Spice Box? Hardest job in the world – explaining the unexplainable. That Melissa Mc.Carthy just slays me. How come all the cool people are on the other side? Who have I got? Ryan and Pence? Bland and Blander? Where did Pence come from anyway with his brush cut and his antediluvian politics? The best surgeons in the world couldn’t remove the poker from that guy’s ass. Antediluvian, you didn’t expect that did you?
Talking of cool, I should give Barack a call, ask him down to Florida for a game of golf; check his birth certificate again (Joking! How I miss those days). Man, I hate this fucking White House furniture, is it Friday yet?