A poem by Beverly Stock.
© Lorenzo Ross | Dreamstime.com
I see my sanity decline,
Whenever It's network news time,
I feel obscurely here alone,
By those elected, I’m unknown.
My state of mind no one learns,
My health or death, not their concern.
And as for his regard for me,
True donation anomaly.
Quotas spent for visits and words,
Donate cash or your voice unheard.
Perhaps for two or three or four
Thousands sent, I could get more?
I’ve not one political friend,
Approaching my sanity's end.
What is this, I hear you’re sick?
Leaving by helicopter oh so quick?
Disregard my absent grieving,
Removing masks, so revealing.
A crisis in place of sorrow.
If you expired tomorrow.