Trump fingerprinted. Putting his fat fingers
on the inky pad, rolling each one back
and forth like criminals do. Dirty
hands. Who hands him something
to wipe the ink off? Does he bite at his
lip angry about he got here? Does he try
to make a joke, pretend it’s an autograph
requested by some MAGA man
in a red hat? Talk about it going
to his Library?
Those secret service agents watching,
what do they know of irony?
What vow have they made?
The bored jail officer has done this
a million times. Can that officer
categorize the look in the eye of this man?
When it’s all done, is he obsessed
with the shadow of ink only he
can see? Wondering what smut
clogs his crevices, the bacteria
that linger. Does he ask his aide
for hand sanitizer as if to wipe
away the moment.
Does anyone in the room dare
laugh?