Put me in your page.
Then I’ll grow grey with age.
I’m your bookmark.
Drop me on the floor.
That’s o.k., you got lots more.
I’m your bookmark.
Sometimes I’m substituted
for one more fitting to the theme.
I know that I’ll come back,
though laying in a stack.
Because caressing pages is my dream.
Give me dogged ears
that droop more through the years.
I’m your bookmark.
When I’m on your shelf,
I’m my better self.
I’m your bookmark.
Bill Barr’s House of Justice is exciting many fears.
They’ll execute a woman, the first in seventy years.
It makes a point that in some ninety days
his vengeance wing can hurt us many ways.
His army of ICE rubes and border haters
are dangerous as hungry alligators.
His serving on the big Thanksgiving platter
could be an intense heat on Black Lives Matter.
His present for the country Christmas season
could be arresting protesters for treason.
And on the time of power’s great transition,
we still have no inkling on his position.
If it’s “Katy, Barr the door,”
will it start a civil war?
We may need to call the Justice League
to end these four long years of Trump fatigue.