Tamed

The President asserts my taming.

I was half tamed, maybe,
but that was yesterday.
Tonight I am the tamer.
This is tamer’s day.

The President asserts my taming.
I respond:
what makes you think me tamed?
A little prince said once
that to love is to tame.
I don’t smell love on you.
I don’t smell anything on you.
You’re no prince.

The President asserts my taming.
I respond:
meh, and eh, and fuck that.
I see how loosely
you hold on to fact.

I see how little you grasp
in those hands.
I hear how little of the world
you grasp.  How little you are.
If you think me tame now,
I feel how tenuous your grasp is.

The President asserts my taming.
I respond:

Prez, baby,
I want to tame your children.
Cut their hair,
cut their tongues,

take their names,
take their souls

in my arms to squeeze dry.

Been there, done that,
got the DNA test.

I’m more than the sum
of what you call tame.
Let’s see how they do.
Let’s see how you do.

Prez,
baby love,
sweet lips, 

orange sunshine,
when did your family get here again?
Mine were watching from a safe distance
when you got off the boat.
Sure as fuck your people
were tame then,
Prez.  Sure as fuck you were
cowards and hiders, cruel under
hoods, changing your names
and pretending you weren’t wild.

The President says
we have been tamed.

The President says
he’s not going to apologize

for America.

I don’t want him to apologize.

I want him tamed
as we have been tamed.

I want to tame him hard.
Tame him so hard
he forgets

who he is.

Afterward we can ask him
who needs to apologize,
see what he says,
if anything.

See what his kids say then,
if they even know.

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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