He Comes In With the Sun

He comes in with the sun, the schizophrenic beggar-artist, at eight a.m. There are no warning sirens. Through the peep-hole, only the glare of the sun, possibly intentional, but I know it's him. The doorbell isn't working, he will not stop clapping. I throw on a robe and open the door. I see him out by the fence. "Not today," I say. "Okay, man, okay." He goes away.

It's too late to go back to bed. It's too early for everything else, especially this.

The Stars and Stripes

The stars and stripes
are being dragged
through filth
by a rogue and racist
President who was
handed the office
by another country
so that he
could be
their useful
fool.
His racist father
would be proud,
but we
are not.