by Joan Blessing
Imagine America’s
most tempting target
for a slapstick attack.
And what kind of pie
in the face of pomposity
masquerading as populism?
Rhubarb is fitting
for his tartness of tongue,
pecan appropriately nutty.
Apple pie’s too wholesome.
A perennial favorite
sends the wrong message.
Pumpkin comes close,
gone with a fleeting season
and the color orange is a match…
On him no humble pie would stick.
More pie in the sky won’t do the trick.
Cow pie? Mud pie? What is left?
For delivery with sufficient heft
the best projectile to let fly:
four and twenty billionaires baked in a pie.
Joan Blessing is a poet living in New York City. Originally from Ohio, she spent many years in New Jersey where she raised a family, earned a J.D. from Rutgers Law School, worked in publishing and public policy, and began to learn the craft of poetry. Most of her poems evolve slowly over time but occasionally a current event prompts her to speed up the process.
