in my dream, the strongman threw my pages
of poems into a wastebasket and told me
not to write another poem about democracy.
no more poems about human rights
and fundamental freedoms, free and fair
elections, independent branches of government,
freedom of expression and press,
constitutional guarantees of civilian authority.
no more poems about democratic principles
that fashioned my poems, they, that turned chaos
and madness into people power, would no longer
have permission to enter my poems. so instead,
I wrote a tidal wave poem about a tidal wave coming.
not an about-democracy or about-democratic principles
type of poem, not a poem about diversity and inclusion,
one man-one vote, international law, or equal justice
under the law. no, this poem was about a tidal wave.
a tidal wave so strong and so powerful,
so potent and so heavy, it could destroy evil
in its path. a tidal wave thousands of miles long
propelled by the strength of the sun,
the moon and the earth. a tidal wave so
demanding so dominant that his eyes
and his lungs looked drowned.
a tidal wave that yelled
don’t ever fuck with my country again.
a tidal wave so powerful, so so heavy
and strong, that, yes, it deserves its own poem.