Mr. Gene Huber,
salutes a 6 foot cardboard
box painted like Trump
every single day
of his life on earth,

& gives sincere thanks
to the Lord Above
for this splendid gift
this heavenly avatar
descended amongst us.

Mr. Gene Huber
loves President Trump,
loves him deeply
veritably weeps upon
meeting him,
& Trump whispers
back that love,
all thankyou's &
laying-on-of-hands
like.

He believes all his President
declares as true,
won't consider
contradictions,
all evidence,
any supposed learned word.

Mr. Gene Huber believes
this snake-oil salesman
speaks for him,
will fight for him,
cares about him,
& nothing,
absolutely nothing,
this charlatan says
or has done,
or pretends to have done,
or is found out
not to have done,
makes one half-pence
of difference.

This an adulation in a
near religious sense,
this is the masses & Mao,
this is the people
& Benito,
the children & Moses.

This is every
flawed & human
guru & rabble-rouser
ever to walk this
green, green
earth.

This is a cipher,
a vessel for hopes,
dreams & simple answers,
a man who points
to an enemy
a target for your failures,
to explain your losses,
life's roadblocks,
declare without hesitation
the answers,
the way forward
to that glorious kingdom
to come.

Mr. Gene Huber
is only human,
after all,
& I guess
we feel for him,
but a man who salutes
a 6 foot cardboard image
frightens me
in more ways
than one,
of that
I have
no doubt.

Grosskreutz chased him, intending to harm.
Kyle Rittenhouse sounded alarm;
Then surrounded by danger,
Engaged with that stranger
Who needed a shot in the arm.

Joey Rosenbaum handled it well,
Though he’s no longer present to tell;
And his threat: Shoot me ****** !
Elicits a snigger
From demons and devils in hell.

The third idiot, Huber by name,
Used his skateboard to bludgeon. For shame!
Mr. Rittenhouse shot—
And that skater-dude got
A delicious hot slice of the same.

I do enjoy the reactions
The sporadic moments of passion
The aurora borealis reflecting the northern hemisphere of your shiny forehead
The subtle moments of laughter followed by
The frustration of a lost conversation
We morphed into swans! But our vision remains myopic
Stuck on 90’s music and the people that bop it
But I ask you
What would you do if there were a Yeerk invasion?
And suddenly I was replaced by a man who craves for more varied stimulation
A host of my own present day born with
A constant fear of hospitalizations…
Will we stand tall the like broken lights in Huber heights
Or sit short, like a February photo of a Concorde cohort
We’ve come a long way from steak and shake
If only I met you before you left
Salisbury road  
Perhaps we wouldn’t feel as pressured  
A young crazy couple clinically betrothed  
The Bronze mark
Of our missed altruistic assignments
Briefly compliment the warning hue
Of Buick brake lights.
After all, without signals
How can you tell
When it’s time to turn in
If you never say goodnight

At Norm's Save Station
551 Gravel Pike, Collegeville, Pennsylvania,
yours truly suddenly realized
fifty eight years earlier
(a preschooler living at Lantern Lane)
John Fitzgerald Kennedy assassinated
November 22, 1963,
12:30 post meridiem
Central Standard Time
as he rode motorcade,

through Dealey Plaza
in downtown Dallas, Texas.
The myth of Camelot
(a place and time
of idyllic happiness)
actually assigned
Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy (1929–1994)
shattered instantaneously
by Lee Harvey Oswald.

While thoughts caught up
with aforementioned tragedy,
Norm a congenial older man,
and proprietor of mechanic
gently interrupted somber reflection
informing me, an exhaust leak
(costing north of four hundred dollars -
that said dollar figure
merely covers price of part)
warranted immediate attention.

Though no connection
between series of unfortunate events
occurring not quite three score years ago
and earlier today
(even Lemony Snicket
would find himself baffled)
finagling two disparate phenomena,

whereby one hotmail
sought to jumpstart and kickstart
his quest for reelection in November 1964,
and one generic kook (me)
linkedin to Machiavellian repercussions
affected then young
shell shocked parents of mine

indeed helpless to explain senseless
killing, whence second youngest president
wantonly, violently, and tragically slain
leader of the free webbed world
even now defies believing
peace on earth and goodwill toward
all men/women can be realized

meanwhile most recent incarnation
of King Arthur experiences brisk business
evidenced courtesy since trigger
pulled by assailant
gunned down by Jack Ruby
(ironically sentenced to death),
which linkedin loosed bullets
birthed conspiracy theories galore.

Relentless desecration
of life, liberty and pursuit of happiness
barely restrained by laws
dime a dozen murderous sprees
now rarely witness capital punishment
and offtimes find villain acquitted
even garnering accolades
after exhibiting crocodile tears
(think case in point:
Kyle Rittenhouse travesty of trial),
who killed two people
identified as 36-year-old

Joseph Rosenbaum, of Kenosha,
and 26-year-old Anthony Huber,
of Silver Lake, Wisconsin
Armed with with an AR-15-style rifle
purportedly and most likely intended
to empty unspecified number of rounds
lest why would a supposed
young law abiding citizen,
(and a minor at live crime time)
equip himself with full cartridge
if not to mow down innocent people?