Two Poems by Alissa Quart
Blur Collar
Ten police & army & American flags
surround one house.
“Don’t tread on me” framed
by antelope skulls. Grinning
martens race through the crops.
The house’s owner: an alpha-hole
I don’t feel like understanding.
Blue collar, blur collar.
Iron cross tattoo, freedom
as subtraction, politician puppetry,
papier mache armies of the night,
bloody neo-Avedons. A new
meaning to doing the nasty.
Exercise fanatics and the exercise
of fanaticism. One flag
reads Trump 202:
A printing era.
Shooter bigots the new cereal
box models, the Iron
Cross man pets your dog.
Enemies are collages.
Snake Year
