Soiled

Your politics

bled

on the cloth

of the table I set for you

so

I serve you

a meal of reason

and suggest you

to take your hand

off your cock

and take

your faulty laws

out of

my discerning vagina,

away from

my maternal wisdom,

and

off of

my coveted uterus.

Once fed,

I usher

you

and your dirty mouth

beyond the threshold

of my home,

knowing you are off

about to

rape

the next territory

while I

bleach out the stain

of your ignorance

from the fabric

that lies

across my dinner table

and across

this country

of citizens who

mock

your contrived existence,

your misguided constitution,

and

your mental impotence.