Knock Knock

Children aren’t meant to be full of holes.
My friend, a nurse, now asks all new mothers
if they’d like their infants swaddled in kevlar.

It’s real, but feels like a bad joke. The machine
punches its ticket; another whimsical meme spits out,
another politician kneels and folds his hands
around a wad of cash.

My Puerto Rican neighbor

keeps calling calling calling home

and now she hears the dial tone

in her dreams, her phone

haunting her.

A hurricane hits the floor and the Right Man grabs the broom.
20 first graders hit the floor and the Right Man grabs the broom.
50 gays hit the dance floor and the Right Man grabs the broom.
Millions cry out, “Me too,” and the Right Man grabs the broom.
Right Boys flood the voting booths, Right Boys flood the campuses,
Right Boys flood the comment threads, Right Boys going nowhere.

Here’s a joke:

Knock Knock

Who’s there?

Woman wearing a hijab.

Woman wearing a hijab WHO?

Two stabbed on a Portland train by an Islamophobic.

Another Catholic Church sex abuse scandal breaks

but no priests turn in their lily white collars, no nuns asked to remove their habits.

And the Emperor has no clothes.

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