The man in the red hat is small,
he is tiny and fragile and frail.
He is very large,
a Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade
inflated balloon, a t.v. cartoon
a chest full of helium swell,
a bloated and bragging, bloviating shell,
hair sculpted with self-aggrandizing jell,
ears tuned to the stock exchange bell,
flying high over big money streets
lined with the towers of power elites
made of stone covered steel.
Paranoid, he reacts to medics with facts
as dangerous deep state hacks.
In defiance of science, the unmasked man
puts his reliance on hunches and hope
while the experts cope to undo
the damage his self-adulation has done.
We endure the superlative prick
as he favors upper class wealth
over democracy’s national health,
playing games with those getting sick.
The worst will be over by Easter, he said.
Does this orange haired talking head
have a strategy to end the tragedy
by resurrecting all of the dead?