We live inside an Arbus snap;
A freak reality:
Where hair grows ‘neath the fingernails,
Of the prisoners set free.
Where the President can call the shot;
Though it grazes every ear;
And the facts, wrought like an old man’s hands:
Twisted more with every year.
Where the terrorists protest their right
To die their viral death;
Their intelligence of children,
Toasting what they think is breadth;
While their Jesus looks upon them;
And shakes his weary head:
And a crown of thorns falls from the sky
To bless another person, dead.
The President, excited,
Walks his pompous walk:
The impostor in the chicken yard;
A king; a wolf; a cock.
While in the wings he waits his cue,
To dance his dance of thieves:
He’s the jester ‘neath the circus tent;
Belching promises, then leaves.
Diane Arbus, are you hiding?
Is the freak show that absurd?
When the leadership thinks all is fixed,
Because he turned a happy word?
When he thinks he is the puppeteer
Of the educated ones;
And he panders to those Christians;
Who wave their flags with guns.
Remembering what’s down is up;
And the moonlight hides in day;
While Jupiter and Venus
Defy their Milky Way.
And why we share what’s called this freak show
From morning until nigh’
We search for truths within your snapshot
Trying to demystify.
With that, I beg of you Ms. Arbus:
Cut the Kraken loose;
Let us return to fairy tales,
Made true by Mother Goose;
Free us from your celluloid
And let us reassert.
So the President and All His Men
May eat their just desserts.
Top photo: Bigstock