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Tonka Trump

By Sean C. Bowers

With no ability to admit wrongdoing, mistakes or errors the “45-Train” hurtles bass- ackwards, without reverse. Coasting by Braille painting without the numbers, this man only colors outside and over all the lines.

45’s ideas of leadership are built of his own making; a cheerleader(less), sinking(ship), pyramid-schemed-pyro-nympho-shyster-style-less Whitehouse- burning- down of only his, talking head.

Surely the “fool of the fool’s errand, 45’s life is a cartoon-ish epic. He makes normal paranormal, makes end-of-times his presidential # smash-tag. To mock the dork, one need only replay and roll the tape of wasted months in a wasteland of ego, wrapped in a hollow soulless vacuum- a hologram-ic empty vessel, sallow and ill-gotten, rotten-to-his-man-whore-core.

Yet, as the deaths mount near one hundred thousand, a justification comes forth that rings so TRUMPIAN, so dead-on, so dead-ringer, so dead-eye-dick- true in his efforts to save his skin at all costs. In his mind, 45 sees a means to an end-the end? He calculates his 2020 odds bettered by voter suppression and by allowing as few mail-in ballots as possible for a massive deadly subtraction. Republicans, who are for the most part wealthier and have better health care, can live longer and outlast this virus better than the poor. They also have more of the overall luxury of working from home. Those stolen votes (in their alternate 2020 universe) will rescue 45 from our broken economy and his endless line of broken words, records, ramblings, promises and incoherencies.

Trump’s red-hatted, Russian roulette gamble is that with his plan more Democratic Voters will die in blue states than will die in red ones. Simply put, the higher death rates for black and brown people and the sky-high numbers for the poor may give the least trusted man in American history four more years to completely strip (MINE) America’s gears by the Electoral College back door, with Moscow Mitch McConnell riding shotgun dummy in the motorcycle suicide hot box. America is poised at her historic low-pex as this riverboat gambler president bets (but never vets) our American house.

His plan has one fatal flaw, other than the obvious death. It requires the utmost participation in the 45 voting camp to live. They must be more self-disciplined, more safety-first, more pay-attention in this new world reality. They must be more charitable, and more selfless, instead of continuing to stay in their only ever known natural habitat of full-on, me-first selfishness. These are familiar biblical concepts to most, yet many are foreign precepts in 45 known morally bereft cowardly universe.

He and many of his constituents have no experience with empathy, as their Barry Goldwater, Nixonian, Reaganesque, fistfuls-of-dollars-tax-cuts-for-the-wealthy, might makes White Right compounded redlined interests yields only more of their continued (pathetic) apathy path, to nowhere. The (somewhat preventable) unintended consequences may be many more dead Americans on both sides than there ever should have been.

The leadership void has now been fully and unavoidably “Trump Press Conferenced” onto the minds of every American over the past month. What has he clearly shown us? Can’t trust him, can’t understand him, can’t explain him, can’t identify with him and can’t risk him being in charge one more second than his 2016 term allows.

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“Utterly-rudderless me-first-economics” should be the new slogan, but Americans don’t have the scratch ($$) left after all four years of his buffoonery to think about buying a new hat. In a twisted way, all Trump (jock riding) supporters should have to be buried in those red hats, so we can start counting’em down to their personal bottom as they go to their final resting place. Trump’s supporters are like members of the Titanic’s band, playing to their very last mis-informed, ill-conceived, loyal Fox News viewer- breath, their own earned funeral dirge-purge-surge.

45 is finally stricken by what he called a “Democratic hoax,”- the thing that is nothing more than one person from China, the thing that will be magically chased away by the summer’s heat, the thing that has been handled. The thing that isn’t that big a deal will have the last laugh. Irony isn’t phony, even if he is. The virus is a common enemy of all people, all ages, of all parties and colors, everywhere. It attacks at the weakest point of our immune system.

No one is immune. Those who practice social distancing, wear masks and gloves and resist temptations of self-adulation, self-aggrandizement, and selfishness have the best chance to ride it out and survive.

Strive, thrive, and with a drive to survive understanding we can’t make it alone, on our own. We all need help from time to time – someone to “lean on,” as recently deceased Bill Withers famously sang. We are all part of the whole of Creation. A health care worker, a fireman, a guard, a trucker, a grocery store stocker or clerk are no worse (yet are no better) off than “the least of us” said the wise Master Jesus.

Maybe the virus has come in part, to remind us that no one is above or below the law and that this is the time to employ reason, math, science, truth and empathy in our lives. When we forget those in need or with less, we are forgetting where we came from and where we are. We are all standing together on the edge of the end of the beginning, if we don’t remember our humanity in time.

Sean C. Bowers is a local progressive youth development coach, author and poet, who has written for the New Journal and Guide the last twenty-one years. His latest book of NJ&G articles (2008-2020) detailing the issues will be available in 2020. Contact by

e-mail and he does do large scale solutions presentations.

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