looking like
Friar Tuck

middle finger to

too cool and smug
for both

even while praising Nixon
bemoaning Kent State

holding court
King Crimson
on the turntable
waves smoke from his face
no, alcohol
was our drug of choice

calls trump
and lays his bowers
on the table
right hand reaching down
to flick ashes on vinyl
scattered on the floor

next day, during lecture
Tuck smugly sober
my head spinning
lab notes never completed
during previous night’s
study session with Tuck
future growing dimmer

thus did my thoughts
penned to paper
sit stale
waiting to be filled
a story
waiting to be told
finally shredded

I move on
twenty more years before
I pick up another pen
this time writing

if only
I’d known
I was writing poetry
at the time

Image credit:  A Bold Bluff by C. M. Coolidge


One thought on “Trumped

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