Porn Government

By Eliza Mimski

One

He undressed the country and grabbed it in his sweaty palms. As the zipper came down, the country split in two. He inserted his finger into the wrath. He inserted his finger into his following but they didn’t notice. He peeled open the law and banged it into the first half. He abraded the tissue. He promised beautiful garments to the second half. He sweet-talked. The country grew grotesque. It took on an absurd shape. It bulged in strange places. His jack-o-lantern smile assured all that everything was just as it was supposed to be.

Two

A cabinet of little boys who hate women.
They dropped my rights down a well.
Men talking about my body. A frat club making rules about my eggs.
He’s an orange glow – radioactive – and I don’t like him.
A long flight of stairs leads to the past you thought you left behind

Three

The men are nails.
They hold locks in their hands.
They are telling us to go to sleep.
But we are awake.
We rise up.
We are healthier than them.

 

 


Eliza Mimski is a retired teacher who lives in San Francisco and writes poetry to help her deal with the election. Right now, it’s her sanity. Her work has appeared in Quiet Lightning’s Sparkle and Blink, Fiction 365, Enclave, Anti-Heroin Chic, Poets Reading the News, New Verse News, and other publications. Visit her website at ElizaMimski.wordpress.com.

Photo credit: “Radioactive Geranium” by Garry Knight via a Creative Commons license.