*January 20 Martin Luther King Day*
.
Raise your right hand and swear
you won't forgive yourself, DJ,
for the 34 counts of felony
that would keep a Black man
from voting in Florida,
but which saw you sentenced
to nothing zilch nada hot air.
.
Raise your right hand and swear
that you'll keep your hands off Greenland;
won't use a MOAB on the tunnels of Palestine,
like some kid trying to blow the red ants to kingdom come;
will kill yourself if we have another pandemic;
promise you won't abolish education;
won't reduce America to an Idiocracy;
promise you'll double the Jan 6 insurrectionist sentences,
so they learn how the banality of authoritarianism works;
swear you won't swipe Canada or invade Mexico;
pledge that you will leave your myriad rape victims alone;
swear you'll never host SNL again,
although we hope you are roasted every day of your presidency;
look America in the eyeball and tell us
what Cofer Black is up to at Burisma,
and how the gas lines fit into the war with Russia;
promise you won't nickname RFK 'hoarse radish',
or start dressing him like Froggy from the Rascals;
if you gut the Voting Rights Act,
know we'll gut you, Rachmaninoff.
.
Christ, Almighty and whitey, and gristlestones, too
it's Martin Luther King Day
and we have to share his dream with you.
I have a dream that sees drones in the sky over DC that day,
and one, shaped like a little hand,
swoops down and grabs you, DJ,
by the man-p*ssy -- and everything --
and shibbers your timbers
a bespoke cruise missile
like the flying ginsu by Popeil
you sent to murder Soleimani,
and I hope you spend four years
duckrabbiting and Melania asks for a divorce,
and we know that if AGI happens this year
we'll all be hallucinating soon
and passing around postcards
of the hanging Mussolinis,
fascists beaten like pinatas by unresolved children
until the bullshit tumbles out
and someone has the good sense to plant a rose
in the loamy loam
of our certain doom
