Gordon : Day 10


I saw Mr. Trump sitting alone staring at his hands. I thought something was wrong and asked him about it. Trump asked, “Have you ever really looked at your hands?”

Trump continued, “Stop and think for a moment about the hands you have, how they have served you well throughout the years. These hands are terrific hands, really terrific; though tiny, orange, and weak they have been the tools I have used all my life to reach out and grab money and power.”

“They caught my fall when as a toddler I and my silver spoon crashed upon the floor. They put lobster thermidor in my mouth and ill-fitting paunch-hiding suits on my back. As a child my father taught me to fold them around money. They tied my  Italian shoes and knotted my made-in-China power ties. They held my micropenis and wiped themselves free of responsibility for any person other than myself.”

“As I have never actually worked with them, they have never been dirty, scraped, raw, swollen or bent. They were uneasy and clumsy when I tried to hold onto the chair when I fucked it in the second debate to calm my nerves. That was a catastrophe. Decorated with my numerous wedding bands they showed the world I was married, married, and married and owned some really glitzy trophy wives. They wrote my 2 a.m. tweets and trembled and shook when Hillary insulted me, that nasty woman.”

“They have held teen Miss Universes, fondled escorts, and shook in fists of anger when I didn’t get my way. They have covered my tax forms, combed my fake hair, and grabbed and groped anyone I wanted. They have been sticky and wet with the juices of women I took forcibly without asking. And to this day when not much anything else of me works real well these hands ball up into fists, flail around, and flap in mockery of people with cerebral palsy.”

“These hands are the mark of where I’ve been and the ruthlessness of my life. But more importantly it will be these hands that God will reach out and take when He leads me home. And with my hands He will lift me to His side and there I will use these hands to grab the pussy of the Virgin Mary.”



NADA GORDON was born in Oakland in 1964 and has lived in Bolinas, San Francisco, Tokyo and Brooklyn. Her seven books of poetry include Vile Lit, Scented Rushes, Folly and V.Imp. A founding member of the Flarf Collective, she has performed widely in the USA and abroad. Her poems have been translated into Japanese, Icelandic, Hebrew and Burmese. She teaches English as a Second Language at Pratt Institute.