Naked Congress

April 28, 2017

 

I want to make congress naked, I will 

confiscate their underwear, microphones

slick black shoes, leather belts, dry 

cleaned slacks, synthetic socks, gold-

buttoned blazers their covering and 

concealing fascist inclinations dangling 

on hangars, klan hoods bundled in 

the trunks of the car. I demand 

 

this office oval and both houses stop

speaking in microphones to the public unless 

they disrobe. naked truth. no more lies

they can wear clothes at home if they want 

keep their masculinity and lemon candy

favorite playbooks and scorecards

give me all their clothes so I can 

make a bonfire.

 

no more sedated hand clapping

to the sound of their tin voices

no more standing up and sitting down before 

the flag, no more lying to the multitudes, 

congress shouldn't be an outhouse 

the constitution flattened parchment 

fiber grown in fields, plucked 

and seeded by people who don’t 

dress in fantasy. no more fantasyland 

for you, senators. none. I don’t want 

 

to be saved, mansplained, told, 

or decided for, misrepresented 

by the screensaver light of their own 

self-interested tiny groomed white 

heads behind desks and pews. 

I’m tired of their fictional universe 

pointing star struck at them selves 

 

Mcconnell’s nipples, that’s all 

I want to see them jiggling while he talks

Ryan revealed. Trumps protuberance of a pork belly, 

resting on his microphallus as he lifts 

his right hand and faces the TV cameras. 

no more sound-bytes, fact checking 
or quotations — just skin, caucasian chalk 

their assholes and knees lined up behind see-

through podiums and desks.

Come out, come 

out, as they really are — come out with their hoods 

between their legs. 

 

no new rules rewritten 

all over our bodies that, apparently,

have no right to choose no more 

cover-ups concealing our actual origins

a woman’s womb, her breasts, our bodies 

without a say. patriarchy echoes through their

chamber, a multitude of white 

men with 16 inch folded collars. End this 

escapade, no more excuses. end

their platform, influence and birther lies. I want

a rebirth of truth

 

Amy Shimshon-Santo is a writer, educator, and catalyst who believes the arts and culture are powerful tools for personal and social transformation. Her interdisciplinary work bridges the arts, urban planning, and education.

 

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