a highlighted farmer refers to his place as “Chicken Disneyland”

because of the toys he has started to hang for them to play with

GOP: The party of family values!

Us: You separated asylum seeking children from their families and lost them

They wanted me to stay inside their box,

to color inside their lines

“The economy is great,”

Stock Market boasted

Blood gushes from my neck

   Rib roast, Chuck steak, Brisket

The swamp is swampier, the debt is, um, debtier,

and Mexico hasn’t paid a fucking dime towards a non-existent wall

I didn't yet know hope could just explode,

without a warning sign

I hear praise for my work offering sanctuary for the few

who, through serendipitous luck, survive the deadly demands of your taste buds

You sit neglected,
like the last kid to be picked at recess

There is blood on the street

and it seeps over all five flavors of Skittles

The mother, helplessly watching, bellows and bellows for days and days, in search of a baby who will never return

Sometimes Democracy gets clogged with 

greed and corruption, lies and obstruction

Crudely drawn, without my consent,

holding a sign for your advertisement

My heart, despite the warnings,

carelessly leaping

But this is different

This time it’s not about race 

Mr. President, a question I’d like to pursue,

What the fuck is wrong with you?!

Shouting frantic hyperbole over some non-existent attack on the right to bear arms, while what you truly came for was the right to their womb 

An ironic cry for mercy from an industry

whose cows receive none

Salt was the price for his captured life,

this Congolese man in slave trader hands,

Ota Benga

Look at us dancing with gleeful abandon

as the tape of your childhood plays