someone slit the Trump baby
foiled and spent on that hallowed ground
of old white men
so proud of their pigskin suits


the shores of Ischia are calling
that city of flour and salt
out beyond the waterfront
the waves breaking
over a song


My grandfather told us about the war once
his grit voice, the thin of him
rocking in the grey recliner
next to a brass lamp you could touch to turn on
one tap and it would illuminate the man
I only remember smiling that one night


the donut shop in my old neighborhood is closing
where we showed up so late that morning
out from under covers, walking under autumn trees
the first morning of finding you again


he’s drooling on the pillow I just washed
a leg twitching, spread out on the couch
after the car ride home from anywhere
maybe dreaming of the cheese sauce
I let him let him lick from my finger