Poem for Candidates
To aspire
and arrive
to lead a nation
is an honorable ambition
impossible to attain
for a pussy.
We bestow the office
on little men
who sit upon
a throne of weapons.
To be the chief,
a little fellow must accept,
if not aspire,
to wash his hands in blood.
The office demands a trigger finger.
Leading America
is a bloody profession,
mostly undertaken by lawyers.
The nation’s knife
bestowed on one
unlearned in the arts of death
delivers power to a child.
Who seated then
upon the throne,
will be required
to draw a sword,
too heavy for a child,
and swing it
in a popular direction.
The result
is always bloody.
Popular death is rare.
I’m a pussy.
Who wants the job?