QUIVER

I was walking in the woods on this gorgeous fall day and looking for a sign from the gods. “Inspiration,” I cried, ignoring the old saw that inspiration is perspiration, “come forth!” But then it arrived just before I emerged from the trees, and yes, I was perspiring.

A dog-eye sulfur butterfly, the color of butter, flitted by me. Dog-eye sulfurs are my favorites; they are the last to leave in autumn. They gather in flocks in mudpuddles and extract nutrients. They’ve got Bette Davis eyespots.

Then in a flash a streak went by me like a bullet, a diving tufted titmouse trying to catch the butterfly in flight. The titmouse missed and landed on a branch, and the butterfly dropped to the ground. Then a second titmouse came by, also missing. The first tufted titmouse then dove again, scooping up the hapless butterfly and swallowing it.

I might have written a poem about the butterfly. I have written poems about cute tufted titmice eating sunflower seeds at my feeder. Nature has but a single law, the cute being devoured by the cute, the fierce tearing the fierce limb from limb. It is about survival—period. Humans are “apes with angel glands” (sorry, Leonard Cohen, but apes are peaceful creatures; chimps are murderers), and so far, the animal gene has won out.

Do you get it? Tufted titmice are Republicans. Butterflies are Democrats. You can love both but one of them will gladly eat you.

Did you see those old people standing in Mitch McConnell’s yard with Ruth Bader Ginsburg signs in their hands? Did you see Kentucky bank robbers and con artists Mitch McConnell and his wife Sleazy Elaine Chou peeking out from the curtains and laughing until snot ran out of their noses? Hear them chortle as they discuss whether or not to go outside and urinate on the protestors.

Did you hear Nancy Pelosi (who probably saw Errol Flynn as Robin of Loxley in “Robin Hood” as a child) announcing that the House will use “every arrow in our quiver,” to fight the Supreme Court nominee? Meanwhile, Mitch McConnell and his band of merry gunsels are loading clips into their Glocks.
Democrats are shooting bows and arrows in a zombie gunfight.

We liberals and liberal Democrats deserve religionists burning us at the stake. We deserve every fucking nutjob with a Trump sign in their yard. We deserve back alley abortions. We deserve being spat upon at the grocery store by the rebels. We deserve racial inequality, and we shouldn’t be surprised if proslavery comes back as a topic of discussion or even as actuality. We deserve clods and sycophants forming education policy. We deserve fire and flood. We deserve sexual harassment. We deserve poisoned water and nuclear waste dumps and plastic.

We endorsed them all—we endorse them all. It started with Al Gore getting gang raped by that Rick Scott Florida cabal. Not only did we not fight, Al Gore didn’t fight. Chuck Schumer recently compromised with Republicans, greenlighting unfit conservative judges with pea brains and Clorox damage to their lungs.

What can we do? Mr. Aristotle tells us, in effect, sitting in easy chairs (inaction) and doing nothing is de facto action, an endorsement of every bad thing that happens.

Literally, all that stands between us and a Supreme Court filled with Crispy Cremes and rat-fucker zealots, is the hope that Collins and Murkowski and Corker and Romney will just say no to their own drug cartel. Are you kidding me? Those are the four musketeers? Chuck Grassley is backup? Pull down your pants, stick some Vaseline up your ass and wait for your super colossal Republican dick ass-fucking.

A dog-eye sulfur butterfly, the color of butter, flitted by me. I ate it.

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