Saturday, January 21, 2017

A Poem About President Trump

Kingdom Come
by Carmine Giordano

Where's Jesus, Antonio,
now that we really need him?
While we've been looking at the sky,
our eyes blinded by the sun
waiting for his returning,
here on fog-bound terra firma
has come a two-bit blonded player
stealing his biblical thunder
shouting to the analphabetic,
for whom his fiction is fact, 
that he will greatly multiply
their meager loaves and fishes,
that he will shake the heavens,
the seas and the dry land,
that he will undo the national firmament,
upend the pillars of the earth.

Who could have imagined 
this vain thing, Antonio?
And how may we abide 
this day of his coming?

Let couriers mount their steeds
and race through the land.
Let heralds blow their trumpets
in high and low places.
The sound must go out.
Affront him on the right,
Oppose him on the left.
Let the able fight where they can.
He is the false prophet,
mountebank, quack, fraud,
shark, swindler,
truth's charlatan, time's danger.
Reveal, reveal this--

till kingdom come!

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