An enemy of the people arrived at my door today
and carried wonders within itself,
spilled out in shy riffles as I gathered it up,
brought it inside to feed it coffee and crumbs
from my scone. Enemies of the people wake me
each morning and discuss pressing, interesting,
or just plain silly things as I struggle to rise.
An enemy of the people last night told the Donald
that he was out of his cotton pickin’ mind
if he thought that the enemies of the people
would stand idly by as he lied, bald-faced,
to the people. We don’t believe you.
‘Cause we the people.
And our enemies are easy to spot.