Kindred Faces

To say that Trump is indulging in a bit of overreach is like saying that Moby Dick was a large hunk of gefilte fish. In fact, we are witnessing nothing less than a coup, the systematic overthrow of our constitutional democracy. 

His nine months in office is a pregnancy which has birthed a newborn monarchy, complete with babbling incoherence and diaper pins stuck in vital organs of the body politic.  

Trump dominates the news cycle with daily tantrums and bullying edicts. It is as if he is throwing spaghetti against the wall to see what sticks. The country is covered with toxic ragu which has metastasized to the point where many people are inured to the daily outrage and lethal consequences.

We mock him with inflatables, and he mocks the population with infantile contempt. A normal person might pause and weigh the discontent. Instead, he issues a video of himself dumping excrement over the nation; a Trumpian version of let them eat cake.

Seven to eight million protesters spread out over a thousand cities and towns showed up for this second No Kings Day. The anger on faces seemed to be subsumed by the joy of camaraderie. If the art and poetry of signs fell on deaf ears in the White House, the sheer numbers could not be ignored. 

I would like to know how many in those numbers voted for Trump. How many minds have been changed during the past nine months? How many elected MAGA legislators and jurists have taken notice? And what will it take to grow a spine on Senate and House members before they become fearful of losing their seat in the next election, rigged as it may be? 

Word has it that twelve million is the number to reach critical mass which would move the needle. That represents 3.5% of our population and shall be the goal for future demonstrations.

In the meantime, I play a dirge on my keyboard. Funereal words interrupted by sprouts and glimmers from millions of kindred faces radiated with hope.