The Grand Old Party
the Star Spangled Banner is playing so loudly
that nobody at the party can hear Lady Liberty's muffled screams
coming from inside the Lincoln Bedroom
flat on her back Liberty is doing all that she can to fend off
an unsteady Trump Daddy drunk with power
he has an executive hand over her mouth
while his other fat fingers climb up her garments
desperately attempting to find their way past her port of entry
and into her sunset gates, "C'mon, Liberty baby –
lemme smack that sweet huddled ass of yours
yearning to breathe free. You know you want it!"
the Donald's aerodynamic pomp quacks and achieves liftoff
cutting manic shadows into the bedroom walls as he
smashes his tiny Trump thing into Liberty's weakening flesh
Uncle Sam is catching all the action standing sentry
behind home plate in front of the locked door
the old wizened white beard waving his hot dog wildly about
shouting, "Uncle Sam wants you to play ball!"
outside in the Rose Garden
Congress is making hay with the gerrymandered vote
holding hands kumbaya like for the cameras
singing Citizens United and it feels so good
Emma Lazarus rises from the grave on the shoulders of
uncountable millions upon millions of wounded women roaring
ME TOO across the crowded centuries
President Great Again deaf to their declaration
continues ripping away at Lady Liberty's tattered gown
the ghost of Emma Lazarus
breaks down the door of the Lincoln Bedroom
shattering the supreme darkness
as the colossus of angry women comes rushing in behind her
they will not be denied
it's the Donald's Waterloo
not even Putin can save him
The New Colossus by Emma Lazarus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
But wait... there's more!! Back channel me if you'd like one (or more) of these postcards. Or if you like, send me your snail mail addy and I'll send one to you via the U.S.P.S.
New from Fake Press in Los Angeles. This side...
Lady Liberty and Lady Lazarus.