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  • Writer's pictureRoMa Johnson

Post-Impeachment Blues

Updated: Apr 15, 2022

There’s nothing for it but to go out

There’s nothing for that but to layer up eighteen items

          if you count each sock separately and include the mask

There’s nothing for that but to start to the whole process

          by getting up off the lumpy couch and

          walking to the freezing bathroom

          nobody in their right mind would take a bath out there

          for a last pee

There’s nothing for that but to stop making this list

and go out

There’s nothing for it but to go

up the hundred stairs

up the steep drive pocked by horse shit

and wasn’t the whole purpose of this to get away from that

across the bridge

past the last of the houses

along the now-frozen mud path

through the pasture gate

past the lamb-fat ewe congregation

          holding their Zoom-less meeting

onto the Downs

          where the icewind blows your face red

          drifting snowflakes like reverse fireflies catch light from

          sun breaks along the Southern horizon

to walk to the mock windmill

          gloved hands aching with cold shoved into pockets creating

          a shadow of you like a corndog on a stick

          stretching Northward across the spiky grass

to stand against the fence with its one broken rail

and cry out God!!!

as if God from her magisterial observatory in the frozen sky

          can see

          you’ve walked all the way up here to utter that cry

          can hear it

          above the other mewling seagulls

ad quanta (insofar as)…

There’s nothing for it now

having spoken

but to turn back for town with the wind

flailing the hood from your parka like a half-deflated balloon

against your neck

Bap! Bap!

There’s nothing for it but to stop

right in the middle

up on the Downs

and shout Fuck!

as if God in his infinite disgust with Shitshow Humanity

would nod in solidarity

ad quanta…

There is a little kiosk down Southover Street

where you can move in a queue

to step inside while Theo

          I kid you not that’s his name

creates a Feast and calls you by your name


          take this pastry which I’m giving to you

          take this flat white and drink of it

There’s nothing for it but to

unglove your hands

allow your tears to melt down your chapped face and

Do this.


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