August 28: "Nine Horses," Birthday Wish, QAnon Shaman

I promised you something silly tonight because my last few posts have been a little heavy.  So let me talk about what I want for my birthday this year after Billy Collins tells us about his birthday present . . .

Nine Horses

by: Billy Collins

For my birthday, 

my wife gave me nine horse heads, 

ghostly photographs on squares of black marble, 

nine squares set in one large square, 

a thing so heavy that the artist himself 

volunteered to hang it 

from a wood beam against a white stone wall. 

Pale heads of horses in profile 

as if a flashcube had caught them walking in the night. 

Pale horse heads 

that overlook my reading chair, 

the eyes so hollow they must be weeping, 

the mouths so agape they could be dead— 

the photographer standing over them 

on a floor of straw, his black car parked by the stable door. 

Nine white horses, 

or one horse the camera has multiplied by nine. 

It hardly matters, such sadness is gathered here

in their long white faces 

so far from the pasture and the cube of sugar— 

the face of St. Bartholomew, the face of St. Agnes, 

Odd team of horses, 

pulling nothing, 

look down on these daily proceedings. 

Look down upon this table and these glasses, 

the furled napkins,

the evening wedding of the knife and fork. 

Look down like a nine-headed god 

and give us a sign of your displeasure 

or your gentle forbearance 

so that we may rejoice in the error of our ways. 

Look down on this ring 

of candles flickering under your pale heads. 

Let your suffering eyes 

and your anonymous deaths 

be the bridle that keeps us from straying from each other 

be the cinch that fastens us to the belly of each day 

as it gallops away, hooves sparking into the night.

I have a neighbor down the street who has been flying Trump flags and displaying Trump signs since 2016.  He just recently added some Trump/Vance merchandise to his collection.  That's eight years, folks.  Eight years of seeing that name every morning and every night--through the pandemic, January 6th insurrection, entire Biden administration, and all the convictions the Felon in Chief has collected so far.  

My birthday wish is pretty simple:  I want my neighborhood Trump Super Store to shut down.  I'm tired of being reminded all the time of the misogyny, homophobia, xenophobia, and ignorance that exists in the world.  

I know that it doesn't matter what the outcome of this year's election is--I'm stuck with the QAnon Shaman living down the street.  It's an infection that just isn't going to go away.

But Saint Marty can dream, can't he?