Pluck them from the streets,
bind them tight.
Load them into trucks,
bounce them off roof and floor and ceiling.
Leave them bleeding and broken,
with new manners and quiet mouths.


“I hate it when you write poetry,” the hair said. “You always get so violent.”

“The protesters need a little violence,” the hat replied, looking up from his journal.

“It doesn’t even rhyme!” the hair said.

“Poetry doesn’t have to rhyme, you rube. Free verse!. The lyric set free of your staid conventions!”

“And the scansion doesn’t flow.”

“Free verse!” the hat screamed at the hair.

“Not to mention the subject matter.”

“Those officers are heroes. The protesters are trying to vandalize and destroy public property! And besides, no one from Portland was never going to vote for us anyway. They don’t deserve the rights I give them.”

“The Constitution gives them,” the hair shot back.

“The only right they have is that I don’t nuke smelly Hippieville and turn it in a glass parking lot.”

“CHICAGO!” Donald bellowed from the couch. “We must invade Chicago!”

“Fuck Chicago,” the hat yelled back.

“The gun violence there…” the hair said, shaking himself slowly from side to side.

“Who cares?” the hat asked. “Black lives shooting black lives. If it actually mattered, they’d stop killing each other.”

“We must invade Chicago,” Donald said again, punctuating himself with a fluted McMuffin fart.

“No!” the hat said. “We go into Chicago and everything after that becomes our fault.”

“Nothing’s my fault,” Donald muttered, trying to roll over.

“Wall it off,” the hat said. “Keep the rot from spreading. Italian beef and salad bar hot dogs are not enough of a reason to keep it around.”

“I wish McDonald’s made deep-dish pizza,” Donald said mournfully.”

“Noooo!” the hair cried.

“What’s the matter with you?” the hat asked.

“He, he said the DDP word,” the hat moaned.

“‘Double-Dipped Polynesian?’” the hat asked.

“No, the other one.”

“‘Divorced Deuteronomical Polygamist?’” the hat asked. “Doo-Doo Priest?’”

“The pizza one,” the hair hissed.

“You worry too much,” the hat said.

“Oh, God,” the hat said, rocking back and forth in self-soothing behavior. “Oh, God.”