PACK YOUR SHIT

Mr. President.
It's only been a month tomorrow
so you can't have much to take:
a bathrobe (maybe two);
a toothbrush (maybe two);
perhaps a thong.
You've already fucked-up
more shit than everyone
who came before you; you'll only
fuck-up more if you stay.
But take heart:
you've made the history books:
most fucked-up president ever.
That's what they'll say.
You'll be the one
they make comparisons to:
You think he's fucked-up? That ain't nothin. I was around when...
And you'll have your portrait; your windswept "do"
will be next to Lincoln Kennedy Washington Roosevelt
and your skinny scrunchy lips and beaver mean eyes
will frighten the shit out of school children
taking a tour with Melania who never noticed
you were even gone.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2017

VD ENTERPRISES

I don't mind
that Vladimir
& Donald divvy up
the world
as if they were cutting
into a ripe cunt begging
for their mouths;
I don't mind
that Stalingrad
& Gettysburg
& millions
of dead stumps
sticking in
the flushed earth
are fronts
for dick-waving
& flag fawning.
I don't even mind
that their walnuts
are patted with powders
as they suckle
from enormous breasts
through endless nights.

No, I don't mind.

What I do mind
is that neither one
of those motherfuckers
have started
a poetry magazine.
I, too, have
priorities.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016