Dystopian Selfie
I will climb the highest tree,
look down to the ground below
and laugh at the dizzying heights.
Marilyn Monroe’s blustering
air shaft dressskirts
ain’t got nothin on my
yoga pants and coffee-stained T-shirt
that reads Writers Against Trump,
showing him being crushed
by an overwhelming weight of books,
crushing him from his tiny hands
on down the spray-tanned landscape
of his failing body.
His lips parted, pursed as if
posing for a dystopian selfie.
You can tell the Don’s complexion is
a pasty gray under all of that
cosmetic confetti thrown uselessly
against aged skin the texture of
too-stretched-out streamer paper
taped taut on a dining room wall
for a kid’s birthday party
where no one shows.
Maybe that’s why
we are in this parody
of Idiocracy.
No one loved him enough,
and now he’s coming after
our throats to feel
that sense of validation,
praise from guys like Elon and
Kanye and Kid Rock.
Truly, a history
to be proud of.
April Ridge lurks in the rural hilltops of Monroe County, Indiana, akin to Mothman’s tomboy cousin, listening for hints of poetry on the wind. She enjoys horror films, the sordid affairs of 1920s circus performers, long walks in pitch black tunnels and the occasional waffle cone from Jiffy Treet.
April serves as chair of the Writers Guild at Bloomington, and is a nominee for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize. Her debut poetry chapbook is Monstrous (Pure Sleeze Press, 2024) and her forthcoming first full-length collection is A Three Night Affair (Keeping The Flame Alive Press, Fall 2025).
