No King
by Beth Weaver-Kreider

It was the perfect image, actually:
a rogue king (self-proclaimed)
shitting on his people,
slit-eyes shifting
in haughty detachment,
in the cabin of a fake fighter jet.
Unwanted, incompetent,
unable even to wear his own
safety gear safely. Alone
in the sky, unstable, unhinged,
no flicker of inner worlds
in his incurious eyes,
a demented troll awakened
to perform a moment’s school bully vengeance.

And you there, in your thousands,
there in your millions, you in you
high-spirited froggy and unicorn glee,
how you cavorted, supporting your neighbors,
singing, thumbs-upping, and honking,
you, dressed in your first amendment,
you, wearing your We The People,
holding your Constitutional rights in your fists,
remember that no king, no dictator,
no foolish, decrepit would-be emperor
will ever take away your right to be free.