after Lydia Davis
We live in a country besieged, my wife and I. We’re stressed, we wake during the night, we’re tired.
We watch the TV. People are marching in the streets while others complain about the marchers.
Our so-called president tells us we’re in danger from the five million so-called immigrants, who all voted for a so-called nasty woman.
A so-called judge says there are more immigrants that want to come and we’ll take them. The so-called president protests in an ungentlemanly way.
We hear alternative facts, and of a massacre in Bowling Green, Kentucky that has slipped history’s recording.
My wife wants to turn off the TV, pack her belongings and go. I want the so-called president to pack his belongings and go.
But here we are, still at home, right in the middle of a country besieged.