hope

on seeing the truth of it

The soldiers of the patriarchy
are panicked and weak,
carrying their automatic ejaculatory
death machines into our Capitols.
Self-congratulatory sentiment
all around for invading the halls
they built to keep us down
to tell the world they are
too manly to wear a mask.
They will not be controlled
as a woman waits for seven days
to control her own body.
They will be heard
as a black man dies
while saying the words
“I can’t breathe”
to the white police officer
with a gun.

And yet I still have hope,
because I see the fear
behind the bravado.
I see the implosion of their world
happening in slow motion.
They don’t show up screaming in faces
with guns because they feel secure.
Their foothold is tenuous
and they feel it.
Teargassing citizens is not
an act of bravery,
but sitting in protest
channeling love
while being gassed is.
They witness such bravery
and become even more afraid.

“The only good Democrat is a dead Democrat.”
Carve that into your marble statue,
Cowboy, in homage to your fear.
Words celebrated by obsolete masters
with a side arm and a microphone.
“…pick your poison:
you either go before a firing squad,
or you get the end of a rope.”
Pronouncements from the
delicate patriarchal soldiers,
Presidentially amplified.