Poems of the Week

Shaking Hands

by David Hedges

When Donald Trump first met Theresa May,
He clasped her outstretched hand and pulled her tight,
Mumbling the sorts of nothings he might lay
On bright-eyed bimbos in the dead of night.

He pulled the same faux pas with Shinzō Abe,
Though faux pas’s absent from The Donald’s lexis.
It’s not like calling someone kemosabe
Or pardner or compadre in West Texas.

A body language expert boiled it down
To alpha male behavior. Power and sex.
The pull, the pat, the smirk, the circus clown
Burlesque, the slow withdrawal, meant to vex.

He added Netanyahu to the notches
Carved where he keeps track of crude behavior.
(He fills in scorecards when he’s groping crotches.)
Republicans are calling him their Savior.