I wrote this poem in early 2017, in light of the 2016 US Presidential Election. Carrie Fisher's death was also on my mind. As if that wasn't enough, George Michael died at the end of 2016.
On inauguration day I had to take the day off. I went to my favorite coffee shop to write. It was there I saw the man with the Frank Underwood for President t-shirt.
This poem is only published here.
As We Slide Off the End of Last Year
I compliment a man wearing a Frank Underwood for President t-shirt.
He says it fits. Netflix is in danger of feeling better today
than celebrity deaths. Each time I think of their beautiful faces,
WHAM—
I'm back on the shag carpet Dad couldn't afford to replace,
favorite records scattered. Between dances
I moved the needle back, let the cabinet lid fall
BAM,
because the clock was running down to cheerleader tryouts,
and humiliation had already had its way with me:
their laughter when I tripped on the mats in the practice room.
DAMMIT
anyway why did I even want to be one? Our pretend
jitterbug was hard enough, and Princess Leia
would never have compromised herself that way,
so SLAM
say we all to the door at the end of days,
twist up our hope into buns and blasters,
get ready for battle.