1/20/2017 2 Comments
Three Poems by Cathryn Shea
A Nobody with an Infected Middle Finger
On the right hand, the one that flips
the bird, cut on kitty’s litter
box. It could be fatal,
a germy intrusion,
of a public finger.
(Trump is a germaphobe. Says he.)
(Trump is a misogynistic mysophobe. Says we.)
The sister of the Blackwater founder
wears a designer flak jacket. Her finger is stuck
on the end of a pencil,
stuck in the desk of her new office
at the State Department.
The State has many departments,
like a department store: Housing-
garments. Under Secretary of
Garments. Secretaries with secret
When you’re in Government
being a Secret-
ary is prestigious. Secret-
aries are debonaire,
have savior faire.
The new Prez is laissez-faire.
Race of Arms
She loves her arms,
she loves her arms,
she loves her arms.
And she loves her arms.
It’s snowing at my house.
We don’t keep the heat up
as high as we want, we
It’s not that we hate
arms. We are snow blind. On TV
bare arms make us shiver,
all those tanks and shifts,
shifts and tanks.
We shiver in our timbers.
All the ladies on TV love
to show their arms.
Black, white, yellow, pink.
The NRA loves arms.
Melania loves arms.
Trump loves Melania’s arms.
He loves Ivanka’s arms.
Russia loves arms.
Daesh* hides arms
under black burkas.
*Acroynm for Arabic al-Dawla al-Islamiya fi al-Iraq wa al-Sham
Journey to Rational Decisions
Proust, at night in 1914 in the cloistered embrace
of a cork-lined room, the faint sound
of artillery. Paranoia in society.
Anyone who remained aloof, embroiled
in extremes of emotion, this
Radicals [and a few fascists] on the left.
Fascists [and a few dictators] on the right.
Well-told jokes and optimism
as businesses fold ...
Look at this wheat in the early summer
of 1931. Gold and fat. 200 million acres
of sod turned on the Texas Panhandle.
They had removed the native prairie grass,
a web of perennial species that had evolved
over twenty thousand years. By the end of 1931
dust made it a different land--
The cenotaph memorializing August 6, 1945. Monday … dawn
pellucid and bright, a warm and
Near Hiroshima Castle, kurogane (black steel)
holly trees radiated
to this day.
of the President’s Bedroom, January 21,
2017. 2:00 am. Faint glow.
A bluebird icon on an iPhone.
The President types with his index
“He’s going to get us all killed"
becomes a new meme.
Bio: Cathryn Shea’s poetry has recently appeared in After the Pause, Permafrost, Rust + Moth, Tinderbox, and elsewhere. Cathryn’s second chapbook, It’s Raining Lullabies, is forthcoming from Dancing Girl Press in 2017. She has poems forthcoming in 2017 anthologies, including “Luminous Echoes: A Poetry Anthology” by Into The Void and “The New English Verse” by Cyberwit.net. Cathryn serves on the editorial staff for Marin Poetry Center. She lives in Fairfax, CA. See www.cathrynshea.com and @cathy_shea on Twitter.
1/20/2017 04:11:27 pm
these are all so timely and fabulous poems! I am so proud to be in a group with you!
1/21/2017 04:14:47 pm
Hey Shea, you're cooking with gas.
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