Last week my image of democracy
was seared by pussy grabbing pleonasm,
I wished to pupa, hide, to be in bed,
I wished to shield my nose from a scent of bullshit.
But then I pinned my hope to other words,
to triptych love in hope of women saying no.
Some men are more than mice,
and we want to walk beside you. Chant in pink.
There is still some time to ward of narcissism,
still there’s time to stop this lunacy.
I believe there will be a day for harvest,
a payday to collect rewards for saying no.