"huber" poems
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.
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 6:18 PM UTC