president Trump has Threatened to Invoke the Insurrection act in Minnesota
the snow keeps falling
like it doesn’t give a damn
about speeches or sirens,
about men in suits
shaking their fists at the sky.
somewhere in Minnesota
a bartender wipes down a counter
that’s already clean,
because it’s easier than watching the news
crawl across the screen like a wounded animal.
I talk about order,
I talk about force,
I talk about saving the country
with boots and badges
and a stack of laws thick as a brick.
but the streets still smell like coffee and diesel,
still carry the breath of tired workers
heading home with cold hands
and rent due tomorrow.
the presidents come and go,
the flags get waved,
the threats get sharpened like knives in a back, with
and the people keep standing in line
cigarettes and the cheap lines of hope.
history doesn’t knock.
it kicks the door in
and tells you it’s for your own good.
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