Trump, the commander-in-chief, is wringing his small, nasty
hands in celebration of destroying the country for the rest of us,
the country that has given him every favor, every tax break,
every privilege known to a white man with no talent except for
losing his election to Biden for a second term and creating a reality
show in the White House, Our House, with his supporting characters,
his robotic children and wife who wouldn’t recognize an honest
feeling if it stung them on the nose.

I’ve lost count of the fired, resigned, removed, unemployed, laid off
workers. America burns in its core with the Corona virus.

Someone in power needs to get PISSED OFF.

I’m PISSED OFF but I don’t have any power, do I?

I cannot remember.

If we Americans lose the ability to remember history, or care about it,
or wonder where it went when it’s gone, we only have ourselves
to blame.

A lead blanket is lifting off my chest.

Valves relax in my heart.

My stomach is easing up on the jitters.

That bitter four-year taste is dissolving from my tongue.

Celebratory car horns are circling through Hillcrest where I live.

There is dancing in the streets, cheers rising like rock & roll
bird riffs.

I perch on my patio and ponder what new flight paths await
the country.

This is Joe & Kamala Day

November 7, 2020