small america

my least favorite holiday in my most favorite month

I tuned in to the broadcast from South Dakota last night to see the protests when I heard the police tell the indigenous people to “go home” the camera then swung to the US Air Force Academy concert band and I saw a trombonist empty his spit valve on the ground in front of him as brass players do all that breathing going on all those spit valves being emptied

not a mask to be seen

today I tended my garden ate an apple baked a loaf of jarlsberg cheese sun dried tomato and basil bread changed and washed my sheets changed and washed my tablecloth anxious with all the explosions I did not go to the beach

the american president is a Russian agent and a war criminal I heard him last night slurring his words sweating like the gross vile pig he is while calling peaceful protesters “leftist fascists” and trying to incite civil war and I only listened to one minute of the speech that was written for him

not a mask in sight all those human bodies crushed close because the american president ordered the chairs to be zip tied together to make the crowd look bigger

the feral kittens are hiding under my bed I don’t blame them not for one hot second I might join them Jupiter remains with me here in the sun stalwart queen that she is





Sidenote ::

I for one will be very glad for high fiving to finally pass out of fashion all that bro and bruh garbage ugh also please don’t slap my hands ever