—for Donald J. Trump
Yes I've got blood coming out of my Wherever 
and my patience has gone thin. You see
I'm using up my extra wattage to tap into
the Oracle, The Goddess. I am Athena the owl
on my perch, swiveling my head, no longer
watching you; I just can't even.

Yes I've got blood coming out of my Wherever,
that portal to the place where souls come through
and I know why you fear it, I have magic much
stronger than you, I have dreams and spells
men once knew and they revered us;
that time will come again

because time is labyrinthine, not linear
that's why you feel so lost, strangled
by hedgerows and hedge funds and artful deals.
You think that you control things but you're
a toddler run away from his Mum, kicking
other children's castles into the surf

and I have blood coming out of my Wherever
like the tide, the power of celestial bodies echoes
in my womb. I don't blame you for being jealous,
but you couldn't handle this kind of power, that much
is obvious. I've got Kali on speed dial, I've got friends
in high places, higher than you.


God I cannot picture you with breasts 
and the dark triangular bush
from which I emerged, along with all.
I cannot picture you down on your knees
scrubbing tiles with a brush
scrubbing baseboards, scrubbing walls
hair come loose from the old bandana
tied round your head. And I cannot see you
crying into your coffee, having one of those mornings,
telling yourself to pull yourself together girl,
a whole nother day of trying laid out before you.
I cannot picture you pursing your lips,
biting your tongue, choosing to say nothing
when nothing can be done,
and God I cannot picture you
looking over your shoulder at your big backside
in the mirror, squeezing your thighs
when your period comes -- but why?
And how else can I call you friend
unless you drop your sword
and peel off that plastic stick-on beard
and laugh with me like women laugh
about this mess we're in?

E. D. Watson