by Nan Ottenritter
occupies too much real estate in our heads.
T***p/Pence billboards line our neural highways.
T***p towers pierce our amygdalas, blunting
our love of country, collective compassion.
His necrotic amygdala somehow lives on in his head
while our neurotransmitters careen around curves and
our collective blood pressure soars out of control.
Reality’s glare sears through dilated pupils.
Our cognitive brains reflect upon where to flee
while, oversaturated with cocktails of our own adrenalin
and miracles of modern chemistry, we continue to fight.
A contribution here, a conversation there; an
early ballot here, a court victory there.
The rule of law, shattered, lies at the side of the road.
My American soul runs to the scene, screeches to a halt,
and finds herself saying, yet again:
“I can’t wait for this to be over.”
Nan Ottenritter is a poet and musician who lives in Richmond, VA.
