by Tom Davy

“There’ll be hell toupee”

We joked eight months ago in May

While remarking on the putrid tan

That could orange the seven seas.

And we were laughing to the end,

Drinking and laughing, watching

A map become increasingly red in the face.

“It’s alright, we only need Florida”

With another swig of optimism and, oh,

That’s gone,

So we’ll move on to the next one:

She only needs this,

She only needs that,

And suddenly the only thing we need

Is a stiff drink and each other.

There’s a comedy in tragedy

But the joke is getting old

And the tweets are getting old

And we’ll be four years older

By the time the punchline hits,

By the time the laughs are spent up

On pent up angry people

Doing angry things.

And we’ll keep talking

The same headline herding talk

That penned him into our homes,

Wounded and smudged with ink

Until, dried up, the well recedes

And refills for more.