Your Signs Hurt My Senses

To my neighbor 

with the nine Trump signs

lining your driveway,

I see you’ve been on board

with the re-election campaign

since he first lost the popular vote,

eagerly anticipating

how many more pussies

there were yet to grab

I see your signs as a wall,

a feeble attempt to keep away

those you’ve never met,

yet still somehow despise

I see these signs 

forming the cage

surrounding and trapping

those naïve or hopeful enough 

to think they could seek

refuge in a country

that treated them 

slightly less shitty

than the one they

were running from

I see them as a wall

around a uterus

you have tried 

to seize from its owner

I see your signs as a cry

to open the beaches,

letting us swim with sharks,

our torn flesh feeding

the unquenchable economy

My closed car windows 

don’t prevent my ears

from hearing your

regurgitated epithets of

“I’m not racist, but…”

 and “all lives matter” 

and I imagine the 

mental gymnastics 

you must practice 

each morning with 

unfaltering dedication 

to allow yourself 

to believe your sincerity 

in either claim

Your signs scream with

the piercing pops of gunshots

and the rumble of tanks,

a war you have declared

to silence the protests 

against an injustice

you pretend does 

not even exist

I hear your 

boastful proclamations 

that facts are irrelevant 

and science is a liberal plot

you’re too smart

to fall for

I smell the sexism,

the racism, 

the entitlement,

and the stench

is more than 

I can handle

Not wanting to get

close enough to touch, 

I quickly make the turn 

towards the respite 

of my own home,

with the poor taste

still lingering in my mouth

25 May 2020
stanza added 3 Jun 2020