The ABC’s of Donald Trump
A-Is for being an AWFUL ARROGANT ASSHOLE an AUTHORITARIAN AUTOCRAT to which you take great pride
B-Is for your BOORISH BELLICOSE BIGOTED BRUTALITY inflicted on others with the GOP on your side
C-Is for you leading a CRUDE, CULPABLE CRIMINAL, CRUELITY CULT because your CRASS CONTAGIOUS CRIMES are without compare
D-Is for your DISGUSTING, DIVISIVE, DESTRUCTIVE, DEMAGOGUERY, you’re a DANGEROUS DIABOLICAL DERANGED DEGENERATE, and DELUSIONAL because respecting truth is something which you seem to be unaware
E-Is for your ENLARGED EVIL EGO because you are a EMBARRASSING example of that
F-Is because you're a FOUL FOOLISH FIEND who pretends that he’s not FAT
G-Is for your heart in the GUTTER, the GESTAPO ways, displaying your GRANDIOSE sense of self-importance, and your GREED for all things GOP and GOLD
H-Is for HATEFUL, your a HEARTLESS HATE-filled soul, you are the spirit of HITLER, whose loyalty has long been sold
I-is for your INEPTITUDE and INSINCERITY in being an INSULT upon humanity, and an ILLEGITIMATE President who needs to be IMPEACHED as you are only INTIMIDATING as The-IDIOT-in-charge
J-Is for being such JACKASS an exemplary JERK so large
K-Is for the fact that you’re a Nazi loving KLU-KLUX-KLANer trying to make America Arian White
L-Is for LOWLIFE, LOUDMOUTH you drained the swamp then hired the dirtiest scum from the bottom of the Right
M-Is for being the MALICIOUS, MALIGNANT, MISOGYNISTIC MORON that you are
N-Is because your a NARCISSISTIC NAME-CALLER whose NEPOTISTIC NONSENSE is heard afar
O-Is for your OBESE ORANGE body shape and color
P-Is for the PHONY POMPOUS POLARIZING POISONOUS POLLUTING, PATHOLOGICAL, PUTREFACTION spewing from you like no other
Q-Is because you are an incompetent QUACK, a foreign operative and a traitorous hack
R-Is for your RUSSIAN buddy Putin, because you’re a RUDE, REPULSIVE, REVOLTING RED REPUBLICAN RACIST who goes on a crazy RAVING RAGING RANTS on Twitter
S-Is because you’re a COVID-19 SUPER SPREADER, who has SOLD-OUT to SATAN, you’re SOULLESS SONOFABITCH with your SLIMY, SICKENING, STUPID policies and SLURS that belong flushed, along with you down the SHITTER
T-Is for your TERRIBLE, TREASONOUS, TREACHEROUS, TOTALITARIANISM which embodies the TURDY TURKEY that you TRULY are
U-Is for being the most UNETHICAL, UGLY, UNCOUTH, UNAmerican President ever, because you have lowered the honesty and integrity bar
V-Is for your sickening VANITY, and the VICIOUS, VILE, VULGAR ways you attack your opposition
W-Is for the WANKER WEENIE WART you are, who behaves like a WHORE in your position
X-Is for your XANTHODONTAL smile, you're a rotten XYLOPHAGOUS, a XENOPHOBIC hater of diversity and others of different races and gender
Y-Is because you’re a YELLOW, YAKKING YAHOO, who is a greedy taker, not a lender
Z-Is for ZIP, which is certainly your true worth, you are a worthless ZERO and that Mister Trump, is the truth!
Chills
... I felt the fine hairs on my arms raise as goose bumps moved in a wave over my body, and a chill passed across the back of my neck. It was cold out, and we passed the bottle of peppermint schnapps between us, staving off the winter chill. If we’d been indoors, we’d have poured it into mugs of hot chocolate. Taking a long draw on the bottle, I winced and tugged the fleecy collar of my jacket closer about my neck.
“Damn I wish we had some hot chocolate”, I murmured, and passed the bottle back to Cooper. He grunted, and screwed the bottle cap back on. Leaning over me, he tossed the bottle back into the glove box. I shivered, and once again wondered what the hell I was doing out here parked in this freaking cold pickup truck in the middle of freaking nowhere at three in the morning. Charlie had been right; I should’ve just gone back to the dorm with her. It was too cold for this. But it had been such a good time out at the bars that night and I hadn’t been ready to go home yet. Cooper’s invitation to drive to the meadow and stargaze til sunup had sounded great at the time… the reality felt less adventurous than the idea of it had though, and I was regretting the decision. Also, Cooper wasn’t being nearly as charming now as he had been a couple hours ago. I knew him through some friends – but was closer with his roommate, Doug. Frost was gathering on the windows of the truck, and the moonlight cast silver over the snow outside. The silence was getting a little creepy, and Cooper just sat staring ahead.
“Where’s Doug tonight?” I asked. “He’s usually at Stocks or the Cellar on Saturdays, but I didn’t see him out.” The sound of my voice fell into the silence like stones down a deep well.
Cooper seemed to shudder a moment, then turned sideways in the driver’s seat to face me, crossing his legs under him. He leaned back against the door and grinned; the moonlight casting odd shadows on his face, but not quite reaching his eyes.
“Maybe he got lucky.” he chuckled, “I haven’t seen him tonight.”
His smile evaporated, and there was a flash of something cold in his eyes, that maybe I only imagined. I had been drinking, yeah - but wasn’t really drunk – only pleasantly buzzed. I wished he hadn’t tucked the bottle away so soon though. Worse, I was starting to get a bad feeling, and wanted to go home. I looked away from Cooper, and saw a large something fly over the hood and off into the trees. Owl, probably.
“Hey, Coop? It’s pretty cold out here, and I’m getting tired. I just remembered I have a paper I need to finish up tomorrow too…. we really can’t see much of the stars tonight anyway … maybe you could take me back to campus?” I shivered, and clenched my teeth tightly to still their chattering. I looked at Cooper from the corner of my eye, hoping he’d agree. He didn’t answer me. I waited patiently half a minute or so ... swallowed, and opened my mouth to ask again, when he started speaking softly. It almost didn’t sound like his voice.
“Doug and I sometimes drive out here and hang. He likes spook stories, did you know? Anyway, a couple nights ago we were up here and he freaked me out completely. I had gone over to French Town that day after morning classes, and hadn’t gotten back to our place til about ten that night. I’d picked up a couple six packs, and texted him to meet me at the corner and we’d drive up here. He met me, but seemed in kind of a pissy mood, and didn’t say anything but ‘hey’ when he got in the truck. I parked just here, and popped open a beer, knowing he’d tell me what was eating him in his own time. He chugged a beer and stewed a while before he said anything. Then he asked me what the fuck had been wrong with me all day. He didn’t give me a chance to say anything, but kept going on once he’d started.”
I could relate to that – Cooper was doing the same thing now. His eyes stayed on me as he told his story.
“You know our place right? How my room is?” (I nodded, feeling like my lips were fused shut. They lived in an apartment in the basement of an old house off campus. It was laid out strangely, and Cooper’s ‘room’ was really just kind of a shadowy alcove behind a wall, under the stairs. It had a doorway to it, but no actual door. It was a gloomy space, with exposed weathered wood beams crossing the ceiling, and a single light fixture hanging in a corner that was just an exposed bulb. I don’t think it even worked).
Cooper continued.
“Well. Doug was peeved because he said he’d been trying to talk to me all afternoon. He said he came home after class and asked if I wanted to go to the gym with him, but I just curled in my bed with the covers pulled around me; only my face showing... watching him through the doorway. He thought I was sick or something: I was really pale. He kept asking if I was alright. If I needed help, or anything. Asking what was wrong… but that I just stared at him. Stared and stared, but I didn’t answer. Then he said that I rolled over in the bed to face the wall, and he got pissed off and left. He figured if I was gonna be an asshole he would just go to the gym himself, and I could just fuck off. So he left, with me still in my bed. He was ticked, so he didn’t go home after the gym – he went to dinner on campus, then to the library, and was just headed back home again when I texted him to meet up. He was still pissed because I seemed fine now, but didn’t offer an apology, or even say anything about it. ‘It’s weird’ he said to me. Then he looked at me and I was laughing. Oh man, he got really pissed then - I thought he was acting, I really did.
“Fuck you man” I told him. “You need to make up stories about other people, dude. You can’t make up one about me, I know it’s a story, you idiot!” I laughed… I laughed, but he just looked… confused.
“Doug, man – I’ve been at my folks’ place doing my wash today. I haven’t even been home yet. Not since my morning stats class.”
Cooper stopped speaking, but kept looking at me. His colorless face was blank… emotionless.
A sharp wind blew through the pines at the edge of the clearing, and clouds dimmed the moonlight. Then, Cooper blinked. He smiled, a slow, indolent smile that numbed my heart and chilled my blood. I was frozen, looking at him, unable to speak as his eyes seemed to glow red… red. Where, I wondered to myself, would red be coming from to reflect in his eyes?
An owl screeched loudly and I jumped in my seat, turning to see that big white bird sitting on the hood; glimmering golden eyes looking right at me through the frosty windshield. A choked laugh escaped me, and with a shaky voice I told Cooper he was an asshole and I wanted to leave right fucking now. I turned back to him and stiffened. The driver’s seat was empty. I felt the fine hairs on my arms raise as goose bumps moved in a wave over my body, and a chill passed across the back of my neck…
Happiness
Babies laughing
puppies leaping
sun rising
rays shimmering
on waves rolling
breezes blowing
colorful leaves fluttering
rain falling
puddle jumping
cold-day cuddling
hand holding
arm-in-arm walking
silly dancing
dumb joke telling
belly laughing
cooking, baking
meal making
sports watching
card playing
porch sitting
bird watching
garden growing
snowman building
poem writing
story typing
oil painting
music tickling
my ears listening
your fingers strumming
lips smiling
hearts beating
spoon sleeping.
Black Crayon
I am seven, sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor,
gripping a black crayon hard enough that my knuckles turn white,
air escaping too-small lungs in desperate, ragged, gasps.
There are lines here, on this white page,
but they’re not enough,
just scattered fragments of a child’s mind,
desperately trying to form some semblance of sanity.
Tears fall across waxen lines and I’m shaking,
watching my crayon as it clatters to the floor.
Papa brushes a tear from my cheek.
We watch in silence
as its weight makes the paper buckle.
“Look,” he whispers, running gentle fingertips over waxen streaks.
I cry harder. It’s hideous, isn’t it? This mess of lines?
He only smiles, shaking his head.
“You did it, darling girl.
You told your story.
And that’s enough.”
...
You define good writing as the substance of textbooks and novels,
pretty words on high shelves that the common man cannot reach,
as if social media has somehow corrupted the written word.
And I suppose it is unsophisticated here, among flashing screens and jumbled text.
...
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry that the lack of periods
at the end of my sentences
determines the worth of my craft.
I’m sorry that this has been done before.
But the words on this page are my own.
So while you define who is good enough
to play this game of ink and agony
I will be sitting here
with a black crayon and ugly words
telling my story.
From me to Thee
If our lips were to cuddle
Under the arrows of tears--
An angel's elation Sincere
Would you then unburden
Your tortured soul to me?
If you were to feel the life in my chest
When your troubled head concedes,
And know my heart never to deceive
Would I then be able to bequeath
My declining soul to thee?
