I entered the columnist Nick Kristof’s Trump poetry contest. It closed October 8th, and no one has contacted me from the New York Times. Last time he did a poetry contest, he published the winners about a week after the entry date. I’m assuming that means if I had somehow won, I’d know by now.
That’s okay. I didn’t enter thinking I’d ever actually win. That wasn’t the point. Actual National Endowment for the Arts poetry fellows entered the last one, and I’ve only written two real poems in my life (of which this is one.) I mostly just liked the idea of venting about how horrible things are in humorous verse, and the topic came to me when I read the column.
I called it Improv practice, since there are talented Improv artists who can write limericks on stage and make up song lyrics. I might like to be one of them someday if I manage to get through 601 and still think I’m ok enough at it to try the musical Improv class. I did semi-sing in a 101 class Improv game called Emotion Chorus. It basically involved having to rhythmically chant something about a topic of the audience’s choice in an emotional tone assigned to us by the instructor as part of an acapella chorus. I got “loving,” and the topic was “Donald Trump.” This meant I ended up making googly eyes and cooing “nuclear war” in a longing tone.
We have our dress rehearsal for our student show Sunday. The week following is the show itself. You can legitimately buy tickets for it on Eventbrite, like you can other shows. Probably no one who doesn’t know a performer will, because what strangers on a date night would want to watch students when they could watch the troupe itself? They could come, though. Also, the tickets are half the cost for the public of main stage, so maybe some really cheap dude will take his date to ours instead and try to pass it off as the real thing?
Unfortunately, while I earned the right to move on to 201, it’s unclear if I’ll be able to do so for two months. ADHD inattentiveness + self-doubt got the better of me. I ended up waiting so long to ask the instructor if I could move on to 201 that all the slots in the classes I could make with my work schedule were booked by the time I confirmed. You’re supposed to sign up early, assuming, and then I guess they give you your money back if you don’t advance. I’m on the waiting list, and there’s a claim that if at least six people are interested, we might be able to join a new section. If I can’t get in to a section in November, the next one is in January. Grr. Anyone who thinks ADHD is volitional has never seen someone diagnosed with it miss out on an activity they really liked because they missed a deadline. ADHD: it isn’t just for boring duties.
Anyway, since there might not be anymore Improv posts for two months after the one describing the show, have my impromptu Trumpocalypse poetry as a consolation prize. I submitted it as Lavender, so I remain anonymous even if pigs should fly and I discover I earned an honorable mention.**
I wrote it without a sense of whether it was a valid style, but before I submitted I checked. An aabbccddeeffgg rhyming poem of 14 lines like this is called a Couplet Sonnet. It is apparently controversial as to whether it counts as a true sonnet. Oops.
**This will not actually happen. (Also, 720 words, including poem.)
Anyway, without further ado:
It’s a Great Li(f)e
He’s a child drunk on undeserved power.
The adults in charge before him cower.
“It’s crucial to keep him happy,” they say,
“Else he’ll soon drive things much further astray.”
They feed his ego; work around his moods.
They even excuse hateful attitudes.
They normalize the taboo and profane:
Don’t dare risk his wrath. Too mute to restrain!
This is no Twilight Zone old narration.
It’s the fiction we’re still a free nation.
Now he’s no God (even less than a man).
So, why enable this Id-with-a-tan?
Any hope left for our vast moral breach?
If Congress but had the will to impeach…