We hate the man in the White House because he eats McDonald’s.
We hate him because he orders his steaks well-done and uses
ketchup like a rube from St. Louis. Americans have adopted
the snobbery of Princess Margaret. We expect the President
to eat popcorn in white gloves.
Yes, this is who we are. We no longer want a President. We demand
a Queen. We treasure the wealthy not the greedy. He’s too much
like us, this man in the White House. The poor love him because
he eats the way we do. He spends his money in the same way
we would if we had any.
There’s a touch of the gutter in the men we send to the big house.
Some people have too much; that’s what makes us resentful. Not
Trump. We appreciate his desperation. We understand his hunger.
He’s not at all like the rich we’ve seen before. He knows his dough
is not permanent.
They’ll tell you how much they admire TR, because everyone loves
a rich man in power, but what I loved about Teddy was his delicacy,
his appreciation of nature, his love of the outdoors, his refusal to eat
with a spoon. All this came from his childhood asthma. He could ride
bareback and use a lasso.
You can’t blame Obama for wanting to be rich. What’s $50,000,000?
Change from the bottom of Oprah’s purse. After eight measly years
in the White House, he was bidding for a basketball team. Now, he is
worth nearly 800 million. And counting. Soon, he’ll be worth over
a billion. He has contempt for people who work for a living.
You turned your face away. We are deep into a period of misrule. The
Presidents are leaving power richer than when they come into office.
Clinton, Obama: trash, bless their hearts, but both now vacation on private yachts. They look down their noses at Trump. He’s beneath them. They
know real money. They can smell it.
I don’t want anyone to come down here trying to be kind. Trump teaches
us how to embody shrewd ignorant verve. Guts, not condescension. Not
the milk of human kindness. Too much of that and you’ll be ready for death.
He’s the kind of guy who’ll tell you you’re stupid, right to your face. Let’s face it: he reminds us of our mothers.
David Lohrey is from Memphis, where he grew up, and now lives in Tokyo, where he teaches and writes for local travel magazines. He graduated from UC Berkeley and then moved to LA where he lived for over 20 years.
Internationally, his poetry can be found in Otoliths, Stony Thursday Anthology, Sentinel Quarterly, and Tuck Magazine. In the US, recent poems have appeared in Poetry Circle, FRiGG, Obsidian, and Apogee Journal. His fiction can be read in Crack the Spine, Dodging the Rain, and Literally Stories.
David’s The Other Is Oneself, a study of 20th-century literature, was published in 2016, while his first collection of poetry, Machiavelli’s Backyard, was released in September 2017. He is a member of the Sudden Denouement Collective.