his last name means to win;
he drops bombs flattening
children to prove he can.
my friends write “not my president”
online. I am the farthest
from home I’ve been in a long time.
I write “I pledge no allegiance”
but children stay dead,
buried by cement in syria
or a cop’s bullet in america
& he goes on golfing, vacationing,
his belt swelling past buckle
while swarms of children never grow
up. he’s not my president but I live
in a country whose sun is war
we keep rotating around its warmth
our faces, sun-kissed, each & every morning.