Tony Medina
Droning toward Bethlehem
After that drone flew over
My head, I can’t stop
Sneezing
I can’t stop
Wheezing
I can’t stop
Blinking
My eye won’t stop
Twitching
Itching
Tearing
After that drone flew over
My head, I can’t seem
To take a shower
Without running out
Wet and naked
As if imagining
The shower scene
In Psycho
Is the drone watching me
As I sit on the bowl
Scrolling through
Instagram photos
Or crying about
My paycheck
Or lack thereof
After that drone flew over
My head, I can’t stop
Thinking
It’s the IRS
And they want to audit
Me because I tried
Claiming my dead parakeet
Yaphet Koto
As a dependent
And I try every which way
To cheat on my taxes
Because they take so much
Of my earnings
When I still have
Yearnings
To eat to survive
Can the drone
See me wiping
My ass
Can the drone
Pick up when
I’m naughty or nice
Does it know I can’t
Leap tall buildings
In a single bound
But still wear a towel
Around my neck
And rock old lady chanclas
Strutting in front of the
Mirror
Like I’m Super Vieja
Is it possible
That the drone
Knows when I’m
Stealing cable or electricity
From my next-door neighbor
That I sometimes
Cheat when I’m
Playing Spades
Peaking at the
Hand of the person
to the right of me
Will the drone take a
Shit on me
Like those strange
Pigeons making faces
And straining like toddlers
In angry Pampers
Or bing me in the head
With acorns like those
Frisky fidgety ornery squirrels
Fucking up my recycling bin
Trying to play Budweiser cans
Like timables—
Prrrrring ting ting
Ting—
Does the drone know
The blow-up doll
Next to me in bed
Is not my wife
Can it see if I have
Dandruff, gray
Hairs—a bald spot
Or head lice
Does the drone know
I seldom say
My hail marys
That I’d rather
Smoke a blunt to
Speak to Jesus
No One is Tariffied by You
No one is
Tariffied
By you
You wear
Clown makeup
For God’s sake
Of the three
Words you
Can remember
Peepee and doodie
You throw
At the wall
When you don’t
Get your way
Sure it’s a
Horror
When the shit
Hits the fan
But no one
Is tariffied
Of you
Breath of
Beefeater Gin
Without the gin
You really are death
Warmed over
A meat puppet
With rocky
Road face
Everything about
You fails
Gravity is
Having a
Field day
With your
Soggy flesh
We’re all waiting
For lightning to
Strike twice
Once against the
Golf club at
The ninth hole
(Dante would get
A kick out of that
Mar-a-Lago hellhole)
And again
In your
Archie Bunker
Piehole
So Edith can
Get some rest
A walking frown
You stink
On ice
The gods can’t
Deport you
Soon enough
My Inaugural Poem
Trump is Beelzebub’s nut sack
Death warmed over
Horseshit on a barbecue rack
Trump is what you get when a
Zombie and a vampire dry hump
In a pig’s grave
What you find in the hay of a stable
Genius unable to wave off
The flies—O Lordt!—the flies
Trump was a Nazi youth in the 19th century
Dumbest of the dumb
Good ol’ chum
You toss in the sea
To see what bubbles up
To the surface
An Outback Steakhouse
Commode full of so much
Shit he pisses you off
Something fierce
Trump is a pendejo sucio malo
Who thinks mahalo means ma, hello?!
And grunts are actual words
Trump is the butt crack bling
Of Hitler’s ashes
His face pictured next to
Webster’s diaper rashes
The O.G. inspiration for
The phrase Ay fo!
Chucky on crystal meth
Freddy Krueger death-defying mess
Inceled by his long-suffering
Fembot wife whose El Segundo
Clint Eastwood High Plains Drifter
Hamburgler hats and Snuffleupagus
Eyelashes give him the Heisman
(Foul-ass Beefeater breath so gravely bad)
Using Lindsey “Aunt Bea” “Well, Clutch
My Pearls” “Gone with the Wind”
“Hissy Fit” Graham to run interference
While she runs off for a row in the
Rose Garden with a Secret Service detail
Prettier than her Hair Thug for Men
Who’d rather have ICE drag her off
Like Blanche DuBois because she
Can’t put up with his godawful
Horrid smell (Yes, she’s been a-
Round open sewers in her day,
But this is ridiculous!)
An insult to human nature
He was pieced together outside
A morgue like Frankenstein’s
Monster
Boris Karloff’s crispy lungs
Singing like Al Jolson
Mammie! Mammie!
Mean mugging like Edward G. Robinson
Mwah, see! Mwah! Mwah!
With hands like pantomiming pinwheels
Doing the Macho, Macho Man Dance
As if jacking off Lilliputians
On the 6 train to Battery Park
Late night in the dark tweety
Thumbs cursing out ghosts
Roy Cohn Brother Fred
The cast of Night of the
Living Dead—old ladies
Whose homes he stole
Claiming eminent domain
Like rolling a dead mother
Or long-lost lover
Off the couch rifling
Through the seat cushions
For loose change
Digging in her mouth
For gold fillings to hock
On Truth Social or eBay
All hours of the night
Until the coke or the Adderall
Runs out or he wakes
Like a latter-day J. Alfred
Joe Rockhead Prufrock
To find that windmills
Turbines and coal mines
Combine to climate change
Karma his ass whipping
And whirling and slapping
Every porcupine on earth
Across his rough-hewn
Unpaved road dirty orange
Brillo Pad face
Wishing his poor
Rich mama never gave birth
Enema of the People
Every time he flushes the toilet
It farts out his mantra like
Little tariffs everywhere
Dickhead dictatorial
Bone Spur Hamburder
Having his creepy MAGA
Minions haplessly hypnotically sing:
Covfefe Covfefe Covfefe
Ca-ching Ca-ching Ca-ching
What happens when you vote
For a dump truck king
Cross
It is not
Criminal
To cross
Borders
In search
Of a better
Life for you
And your
Children
It is not
Criminal
To wade
Through
Water
Trudge miles
And miles
For some
Semblance
Of asylum
Escaping
Gangs and
Cartels
And those
Who trade
In human
Flesh
It is not
Criminal
To inherit
The earth
Only to be
Told you
Can’t
Walk
It
Stay on
Your side
Of the
Fence
It is not
Criminal
To breathe
The same
Air taste
The salt
Of the sea
To have
Similar
Dreams
It is not
Criminal
To be blessed
By the sun
And have
Wind rake
Through your
Hair and
Across
Your skin
It is not
Criminal
To embrace
The expanse of
This remarkable
Earth and the
Myriad of
Possibility
It harbors
To enjoy
All that God
Brings to
Bear this
Burden like
The sign of
The cross