The prompt for April 19th was “Tell it like it is, or…” (tell it like it isn’t). In the wake of Trump’s designation as the GOP nominee, the months of speeches, the concerning policies outlined in The New York Times, I’ll share my poem from that day.
It’s Going to Be Coming up Roses
You know roses—not those rambly shrubs
lining the highway, not those roses
with thorns—I’m talking
perfect roses, the kind you buy
for your sweetheart, the kind you give
to make up, to get laid, the roses
in a long white box, big red bow, flowers
you give to the girl you want to love you back,
blooms as red as a kiss, as velvety
soft as a bra coming off. You love roses,
don’t you? We all want roses,
and I’m going to send you dozens of them.
A gross of roses. Not the smelly ones.
Sure, stop to smell the roses, but you
don’t want your rooms reeking like a funeral.
No, I’m going to give you purebred roses,
stems as long as a super model’s legs,
you know Heidi Klum’s legs?
And they’ll last and last
because these are super roses, and there will be plenty—
plenty of roses for everyone,
and when, finally, the petals start
to fall—sure, we’ll have new roses delivered
in no time at all–but the old petals will drop
all over the ground—a red carpet
we walk on everywhere we go.
Don’t worry about the climate
or the bees—the roses are doing great!