I’m a Proud Black for Trump! I’ve his dick up my rump
Or perhaps a facsimile with the same name.
Anyway, I’m in heaven. I feel no disgrace
From my people of color. Why do I embrace
Such a figure whose care for me should cause me shame?
If I go against logic, am I then a chump?

I know who to be black for. It isn’t for me
But for he who is chosen to fulfill God’s plan.
I’m a wounded religious freak on a lost cause.
I don’t know who I am because I never was.
Now I’m Bozo, the Black Man and avid Trump fan.
I must stand right behind him so all blacks can see.

Vote for Trump, my black brothers and sisters in race.
He has done nothing to us nor for us just yet.
He may go to the loony bin sooner than I
And, like him, I am kind of a strange thinking guy.
Were he removed from office… That, I would regret.
That would mean I’d have only my dark soul to face.

The fine art of name calling evolves at the pace
Of our quick finger licking and flipping the bird.
Someone’s called me a ‘leftie?’ What’s that, by the way?
Why not let me in on it? Why not make my day?
If I tune to the news, I will learn a new word
That I don’t have to wear as if it were my race.

How I came to know that I am black is by way
Of the playground theater from players petite.
If my mother knew so, why did she not tell me?
She deemed it not important, and I must agree.
Yet, I’ll still learn a word from some people I’ll meet.
People get off on naming things. It makes our day.

So, do I tit for tat it? That would make good sense.
I must call my damned brother as he has called me.
That response doesn’t get it. It can only lead
To increased isolation in thought and in deed.
There will always be names for who I tend to be.
If we let go of naming folks, would peace commence?

It has been eighteen months now since my country died.
I have not yet gone through all the stages of grief.
Suddenly a huge wave of emotion has come.
Would this be an excuse to get wasted on rum?
Something dear to my heart has been stole by a thief.
Have I kept most my sorrow pent up deep inside?

A cathartic experience is what it’s like
To come to the reality that life has gone
From the land I once knew… But the feeling is fine.
What I know is there is no apparent life sign.
I know also that midnight will turn into dawn.
Resurrection and healing appear down the pike.

Hatred is a reality factored into
The fabric of existence in physical form.
Contrast is part of living. There is no escape.
If I move well within it, then I’m in good shape.
Does departure from sanity mark a new norm?
I would pray for the death of me if that were true.

If my feeling is hopeful, then I should know why.
It’s because I believe that this country is strong.
For a nation well built, there’s no such thing as death.
There is polysyllabic expense of hot breath.
And without that, it could be that we’d get along.
Since the country’s not dead yet, I won’t say good bye.

It is easy for us but not so for the harmed,
Who are too young to understand what’s going on,
To move on past rejection and psychic abuse.
Why not round them up, brand them and then let them loose?
There is no point in asking where conscience has gone,
As it baffles our leader why folks are alarmed.

It’s an Alice in Wonderland tale but surreal.
Either side of the rabbit hole is a strange place
To the other. A brown Alice forced through it will
Be processed or perhaps not. She knows not the drill.
Time may dampen some pain, but it will not erase
What impressions the children have. Are they ideal?

Rabbit holes have no bottom – those this nation makes.
They are seen as deterrent in nature and form.
Tiny eyes won’t remember alternative facts.
They will recall a nation conceived of bad acts
Perpetrated upon them amid a hate storm.
In some time, we’ll know the full brunt of our mistakes.

It’s a Good life, America. Don’t say it’s not.
We owe all to the monster who treats us so well.
Nowhere else in our long history have we seen
Such a Wonderful tyrant. Don’t say that he’s mean.
We should all give him praise now, while under his spell.
If we make the child angry, we could risk a lot.

He had some friends to play with. He wished them away.
With the point of a finger he orders his wrath.
It is Good that he does this, though. He can’t do wrong.
If you cannot agree, then you do not belong!
He is Brilliant, and simply a fine psychopath.
Everyday is a Great day. What else could we say?

It was nice in the old time when souls weren’t at stake
And when truth was a constant, along with respect.
But this monster won’t know that. No power has he
To read even his own thoughts, as one can well see.
This sick child of a man will do harm if unchecked.
We have met our own darkness. Will we come awake?

The Standard Not Cased – A professional term,
Somewhat militaristic sounding to lay ears.
We all know what is standard. We’ve learned it from birth.
Our dominion is sacred and good for the earth.
We are Monarch! That’s how it most surely appears.
Why is it that our fine standard makes others squirm?

Ours is red, white and blue. Others… blue, white and red.
There’s a handful of colors each nation may use.
We can’t run out of colors. They can’t go away.
We hijack them to standardize what we must say.
We do give up our freedoms as we dare to choose
Metamorphosis raging at full steam ahead.

So, the Standard Not Cased are the colors unfurled
And released from protection from weather and wear.
I salute them, in general. Orders I take
From my inner self only. Why live not awake?
Today’s sentry is willing to notice and care
That our standard may not be the best in the world.

When alone in a shoebox and weathered by time
And neglect of the home life within the dark soul,
No one comes by to visit. What life could be there
But one filled with delusion and utter despair
For not having attained some significant goal?
At the moment of birth one seems way past one’s prime.

Maybe better with family, a dog and some beer,
There is guidance available to one who seeks
Strong alignment with some cause related to blood.
I salute the self-righteous supremacist flood
Of the fictional family with tongues in their cheeks
That will tell this sick nation that it’s time to cheer.

To propone the persona of flesh on a throne
Does extract from the owner some measure of heart,
And from those of the kingdom, much trust and respect.
There is no sense of honor that I need detect
In the souls of the leaders I choose. A new start
Is something I can’t handle. That’s why I’m alone.