A Brief Poem Written at the End of a Bitter Year

What did they think at the edge of the world?

The type of thing written in poems…

One should say, think, where money was useless.

Where the crossbows failed.

The end of another year in a talkative country.

I think of Donald Trump as an “interprandial pooper”—

From Hipponax, one who leaves the table to defecate

So that he may again eat more.

At the edge of the world

Where the poor have only flags of parody….

 

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