Everyone on screen hates that guy from Maine
where sidewalks run in full technicolor
There’s five of them in a great white circle
they must be the fucking worst at thanksgiving

TV aglow — Ingraham’s disfigured mug
stiff with hate tightened in intolerance
Out the foxhole trying to put Planter in place
sharpening teeth — tightening talons

Faces balloon with botox seethe with acerbic heartburn
scream Blasphemy! ‘tween layers of ladylike lip filler
My hips are not as femme as I wish
but I sissy that walk on the incline of the treadmill

Stones at the pit of my stomach
trembling rage watching harangues n’ harassments
Plug my ears with queer advisement
some theys listing hotlines for thems

Cut off by a foxhole in a lifted truck
stickers slapped to its ass promising a swift dispatch
From an amendment affirming arsenal
coal coughing and crop dusting

Blue is the calmest color — breathe
sky and overgrown chicory
That cornered cube airbrushed with blue
antithesis — imposter with foxy lettering

They’ve burrowed into foxholes
where even light cannot reach
Faces upturned in orange
red markings on the head

I shatter the TV floating overhead
pixels mutiny the screen in rainbow
Prussian blue brought to its motherfucking knees
head severed — tv falls in sparks of destruction

Headphones shoved further into my ears
I see it no more — put the strut back into my hips
That guy from Maine really doesn’t care
who makes the girls’ team and who doesn’t . . .