Poetry

April 9, 2019 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

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By

Alejandro Escudé

 

 

 

Tilt

 

 

 

“This will be worse than the windmills,” said Sancho.

From afar, the windmills looked like giants

to President Trump, so he charged at them

and his legions followed—it was a wonder 

to see the masses lined up behind him,

as the windmills tilted and whirled. But to them 

they were not windmills but giants. 

There were rifle-toting men wearing MAGA hats,

and Neo-Nazis chanting “Giants will not replace us!”

Unassuming women chatted with one another

as they marched along, and even a cohort of teens

followed with curious, fascinated grins. At the rear,

were the Republican politicos speaking in low

grumbling tones, like an approaching storm.

President Trump was covered in shining orange armor

and waved a sword, which was actually a 3-iron.

When the sun hit Trump he became the sun.

When the whirling and titling windmills struck him,

he snatched one and held on for dear life, 

and so did everyone behind him, a mass of humanity 

turning, riding the windmill giants until 

they were a part of the windmills and the windmills

began to suddenly speak. Oh cracked Babel!

And what the windmills said, the people also said.

 

 

 

 

 

Alejandro Escudé

Alejandro Escudé

Alejandro Escudé’s first book of poems, My Earthbound Eye, was published in September 2013. He holds a master’s degree in creative writing from UC Davis and teaches English. Originally from Argentina, Alejandro lives in Los Angeles with his wife and two children.

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