poor fuckers


We know who you think you are.

But a picture is worth a thousand words.

Not three million illegal votes.

And I’ve got some news—you know, the thing you hate.

You’re not the King.

Not even close.

For me, it was—and always will be—Elvis, Jim Morrison and Johnny Cash.

And Goddammit, I wish my mentor, Hemingway was here

Because I believe—all political affiliations aside—

He would march right up to your tower

From his Nick Adams stories on the train tracks,

Just so he could buy you a drink that you’d never touch,

And kick your ass—

Because that’s the only thing assholes recognize.

Knee-jerk, gut reactions

That hurt enough to make a big man stop

And think

About the fucking mess he’s created

In such a short amount of time.

Convincing thoughtless people

That one country is the Universe,

And that there could only be

one nation

Under God

With liberty and justice for all,

Except women and blacks and Mexicans and people

That have a good grasp

On reality.

Not Fox TV.

You’re a moment of weakness.

An ignorant ambition.

The little wimpy voice of every closet racist, homophobe, and misogynist I’ve ever known.

Friends and family and tolerable acquaintances

That fell for it—the poor fuckers—

And they will believe—no matter what—

That you are the savior

To make their lives,


The world,

Great again.

While the rest of us—

Hardworking, blue-collar type folks,

Do the real work

Creating faith and putting the big picture

Back together



~ K.J.

One thought on “poor fuckers

  1. Holy Smokes, One of those day Huh? Everyone has their own choice and if it is wrong it’s their problem. But like Grandma would say, “now you made your bed you sleep in it.” People are looking for a miracle worker someone who promises so much that they want they believe even when it may be wrong. You can only hang on to hope and faith.


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