Resistance

If I bought a tin of impeachmints,
with Trump’s face on it, would it make me feel better?
(Not sure if they also had resistmints.)

I could print RESISTANCE,
with Trump’s face on it, on a sweater
that I could wear while I suck my impeachmints.

But I worry that someone might resent
my saddening them with my blue distemper—
my attempts at resistance

misfiring badly because addressed to the wrong folks.
Only my friends get in a nauseated lather
day after day about the need for impeachment,

until finally we just make each other sick
and fearful, looking for some way to feel safer,
mistaking—fatally—ridicule for resistance.

Scoffing and wringing our hands, we do his bidding.
We pretend we’re fighting, but we’re eating the wafer.
Our breaths will stink to high heaven, no matter how many mints
we suck down, until we bleed resistance.