The Happy Poem at the End

There is a man on a TV screen in all of my dreams.
He watches me with his Gestapo glare.
He smiles like my grandmother on Christmas.
The man on the TV screen is so distant,
I like to call him the President.
I have the sudden urge to kiss his tuxedoed frame debonair lips.
(What happens in a dream stays in a dream,
I will tell myself when I wake).
It always begins some way like this.

I grow a tail and put a collar around my neck.
I strip nude to hear the President say “good boy”.
When the President asks me to sit, I sit.
He sees a frail, neutered, naked boy, dirty as a philistine.
I lift my leg and clean my penis with my tongue.
I groom it spotless like the Eiffel Tower in Paris.
The President beckons to me from behind his screen;
Obediently I bark, and repeat.

Who is the good boy cleaning his penis?
Who is the good boy cleaning his penis?

What does a good boy want?
What does a good boy want?

Sometimes I tell the President my dreams. Even in my dreams
I brood about those things: art, passion, even poetry.
Do you think it was the chicken or the egg first? What does that mean?
Do you think it was the chicken or the egg first? What does that mean?

Who gives a shit about poetry anyway?
Who gives a shit about poetry anyway?

Sometimes the President talks as if he is the one dreaming.
We lay in bed while the President talks in his sleep.

It is amazing what people see in a person when there is nothing there.
It is amazing what people see in a person when there is nothing there.

You can get away with everything when you mean nothing.
You can get away with everything when you mean nothing.

It’s when you mean something you can do nothing.
It’s when you mean something you can do nothing.

I like to think a President is also a part time poet. They have literally no expectations.

The President and I lay in the bed until I close my eyes. I open them
And see a mirror reflecting a man in a tuxedo.
He has a long furry tail and a collar around his neck.
He pants, wags his tail, and begins to speak.

You can be anything you want, just take on a little debt.

A good leader is just as much a devil as a saint.

The American Dream: Make it Great Again, a pay-to-play MMORPG.

No one repeats the howls of a trained, neutered dog.
No one believes a mutt of a dog was cut out for that job.
I can’t tell the President now at how ashamed I am of who I am. And yet, he already knows.

The computer screen flickers on to life: the President is live streaming
From an Oval Office couch, brisk and sharp after an afternoon nap.
You are Washington’s Cherry Tree and no one will cut you down but me.
You’re with me, I’ve got your back. I’m listening and watching because I care.
The President smiles and salutes. The screen goes black and you swear
You can hear applause. The President’s voice comes back. I sit and wag my tail.

You are just a stump.
You are just a stump.

You have too many thoughts.
You have too many thoughts.

Now why don’t you wake up and sit down on the couch and watch some TV.
Now why don’t you wake up and sit down on the couch and watch some TV.

Everything will be alright.
Everything will be alright.


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