Tits Out & On The John

I hope I can be as brave as my friend Mary who,
when confronted with red flashing lights and SWAT
teams running down her block at five a.m.,
got out of bed, put on pajamas bottoms,
and headed for the bathroom.
“If they want me, this is how
they’re gonna find me.”

Turned out to be a drug raid, not the roundup of
mouthy Liberals that we’re all waiting for under
Le Grande Orange’s regime, but even so,
I’m pretty sure we’re both relatively safe:
cis, white, female, lower middle class,
upper middle-aged residents of a
solidly Blue State.

Despite infrequent TRUMP IS GOD
signs off the beaten paths of pavement, I
am relatively secure.
I know how to live without
$6 eggs (ground flax seed),
and I work from home till Spring,
so gas is a minor concern. Still,
my passport is handy, my Spanish lousy,

but that’s my one resolution this
year. Don’t make yourself
sick over the looming storm.
Be ready. Be available.
Be on call for when a march
is required. Pajamas bottoms
at hand, tits at attention,
nipples set on
stun.

Long Islander by birth, CHERYL A. RICE has lived in New York’s Hudson Valley for over forty years. Her work has been appeared in Chronogram, Home Planet News, Florida Review, Misfit Magazine, Trailer Park Quarterly, Ragged Lion Journal, and Long Island Quarterly, among others. RANDOM WRITING, Rice’s workshop “for new and used poets,” has been offered for over twenty years at such venues as the Poetry Barn in Hurley and the AIR Studio Gallery in Kingston. She earned a BS at SUNY New Paltz, and half of an MA at the University at Albany.