WINNING OUR AFFLICTIONS

by Mark Williams





Dear Mister President,

My name is Austin Baggerly. I am 9 years old almost.
I am writing about the 4 brown women you told
to go back to the broken countrys they came from.
Mom says they cant go back. They came from here.
They are back. Or here. I am confuzed. Plus
Mom says that with you in the White House
our country is broken and the 4 brown women
should stay and fix it before they go any wheres.
Dad says he wishes they would go back
to where there Moms and Dads came from. Dad says
soon we will walk into for instants Chuck E. Cheese
and it will be filled with brown people
staring at our white butts. Moms and Dads
and my white butt Mister President. Mom says
no one would want to stare at yours. Anyways
since you became President our house broke to.
Dad sleeps with me in my room. He snores.
But since you told the 4 brown women to go back
things have gotten better for me in some ways.
Mom bought me a Perplexus Epic 3D Maze Puzzle.
Dad bought me a Ridiculous Inventions Science Kit.
Mom says that Dads gift is ridiculous cause
he does not believe in science. Anyways
I heard Mom tell Aunt Alice that when Dad
agreed with you about the 4 brown women
he crossed a dipping point. I asked Mom
what is a dipping point. She said ask your father.
I know what Mom and Dad are up to Mister President.
Thanks to you they are trying to win my afflictions.
It is working. I wonder who will buy me
a Fat Brain Toys Chaos Machine. Mom says
you must already have one. Is it fun?
Pretty soon I will have 2 houses to go back to.
If both Mom and Dad buy me a Chaos Machine
I will have 1 for each house. Sweet!

                                                            Yours truly,
                                                            Austin Baggerly

Mark Williams's poems have appeared in The Hudson Review, The Southern Review, New Ohio Review, Rattle, Nimrod, Jokes Review, and The American Journal of Poetry. His poems in response to the Trump administration have appeared in Poets Reading the News, Tuck Magazine, and Writers Resist. This is his second appearance in TheNewVerse.News. He would buy a Chaos Machine if he knew it could be set in reverse.

PRIVILEGE CONFERRED

by James Hamby

Graphic by Jesse Draxler for The Atlantic from a photo by David Hume Kennerly / Getty

What happens to privilege conferred?

Does it swell up
in narcissistic pride?
Does it demonize everyone
not on its side?
Does it trample to the ground
everyone who is poor,
female, or brown?

Maybe it’s too inept,
too incompetent?

Or does it become President?​

James Hamby is the Associate Director of the Writing Center at Middle Tennessee State University. He has been a finalist for the XJ Kennedy Parody Award and a nominee for the Pushcart Prize. 

NO RACIST BONE IN MY BODY

by Tricia Knoll

Image source: PoliticalForum

My, my, you old fool.
Of course, bones aren’t racist.
We’ve seen the pictures.
Kennewick man, skull sort of yellow,
sort of green, sort of gray.
All the bones at the end
come to some sort of pale.
You know, Alas, poor Yorick.

It’s the brain, you fool.
The synapse connections
met out of bounds, sparks
you must have learned
as a child. Who is good,
who is not so good, who
should vote, not vote,
breathe, not breathe,
share the earth, molder
in cages. The concept
of division rest in a brain.

I’d give you credit
for not having a racist
big toe. Although... I fear
the boots you might put on.

No racist bone
in your body. Get real.
Look at your heart.


Tricia Knoll is a poet as tired as so many Americans of lies, cruelty, and idiocy.