Something made us smaller today,
pushed under scudding bulletins.
TV polls predict a humbling.
You can already see the landslide
burying light behind the eyes
that sell us flat whites and pastries.
You can nose out the rot of hope
in burger bars and betting shops
where we snack down on fat and luck.
Even the bus stop tastes of Trump,
here in my newly foreign land.
In other news they forecast snow.
We’re just grateful for the blanket.
Published in The Irish Times the day after the election of Donald J. Trump as the 45th President of the United States.
Mark Fiddes 