You’re no cunt, Trump by Jane Burn

I am not a silent poet

It will only make you scorn us more, this use
of it as insult. I would not fit this word to you.
This power is ours to speak or not – too
easily flung, it belongs to us. Let it not be slung
around – the sound of it upon you demeans us.
………………………..Do not presume to touch us.
………………………..We shall never be under your thumb.

Let us not loose ourselves in mocking you,
for it is not the smallness of your paws
but the meanness in your heart that makes
us afraid. Let us not forget your mouth,
be it glossed, zipped, pursed as a dog’s arse
is yours to moue as you will. It’s not the shape
of it but what comes out.
………………………….Now that
……………………………………….is what concerns us.

If you wish to wear that flossed confection
upon your head that’s fine by me…

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