The first time I saw an apple doll was in a picture book

Kids in the suburbs don’t have homespun toys – but that particular book, from our school library, was one of those “Back in the OLD DAYS when people didn’t have SHOES so they walked 12 MILES to school BAREFOOT” kind of books, the ones your grandparents swore was written about THEM

The doll’s head was an apple
(well, sure, or else it would have been a Prune Doll or some such)
An actual apple, dry and old and quite wizened up, used up

The face was dead
Not peaceful, died-in-their-sleep dead
More like starved-to-death or “Bitten By A Brown Recluse Spider” dead. all sucked in on itself, so dry I could almost hear the parch

And the reason this came back to me one night while we were watching TV
(this bizarre tidbit from the Bipolar Lock Box/bat haven)
It was his face

His face as he put his crusty hand on an actual Bible
and swore an oath to do a bunch of stuff we all know he won’t do
does not intend to do
assumes he is above bothering with it at all

That dried apple yawned open, then closed
It never kissed its wife
It had few. if any, words for its own young son

When it blinked, bits of peel seemed to shard off and
float the astroturf carpet below its feet

A desiccated, ancient thing
Perhaps it had been vital at one time, but it was never top of the bushel

The apple a grocer hides in the pile, hoping some unsuspecting shopper
will pick it up along with the other, shinier ones
A wormy, mealy apple
Fruit of a poisoned tree

(Thoughts on the inauguration of Donald J. Trump)

(c) 2019 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

For ABC Wednesday, “L” is for “licentious” and “lecherous.” And “lousy,” “loathsome,” and on and on.

Truth: I wrote this the night of Trump’s inauguration but didn’t post it until now, because I have spent the last three years (plus) freaked out by the fact that this pustule is actually president of the United States. PTSD takes its toll on survivors of sexual abuse, and the Access Hollywood tape, along with all the other insults to practically everyone who is not a straight, white, Christian, Republican male… Well, yeah, that’s why I have not blogged much since then.

I am disappointed in myself, that I could let one man steal that much joy and power and enthusiasm from me. But see the comment above about my childhood sexual abuse. I learned, very early on, that one man could, indeed, steal my innocence and trust, so why not joy, power, and enthusiasm, too? I mean, he is the president. And he does believe he is all-powerful. (Just don’t look behind the curtain. That fat king is buck naked.)  Amy