.Open Mic: ‘The P in POTUS,’ a Poem

Make the burnt orange pussy grab himself

in the back of the locker room

where all the other fat cats

are finding pleasure 

in the stench that naps on 

his puckery lips.

I bet Junior

will buy airspace on a live podcast

hosted by Duke Testosterone.

Then prideful boys can eavesdrop

from their own dimly lit locker rooms.

I’ve seen the foxy blonde gals,

vectors for his alternative factualitis. 

They’ve helped secure campaign funds

for plastic surgeons

and the manipulators

of the online gagosphere.

Let’s remove all the clownish boobs

from their two-bit thrones

with elective surgery.

I vote for deportation to a woke gulag

across the Bridge of Lies.

In last night’s dream

I took my heather gray cosmic b – – – – ka

to Washington. I fired salvos 

of mom’s goodness and dad’s intelligence 

into the five senses of those

who need a wake up call. 

But when I awakened this morning,

ten trillion dollars worth of good will

had evaporated throughout the world

again.

And now I can’t find my b – – – – ka.

CJ Johnson is a Navy veteran, actor, poet and musician in Marin and Sonoma counties.