Sudasi J. Clement
Having His Cake
of my ex-husband
you make him bearable
substantiate his taste
When things fall apart
you stay at my place
we talk for hours
rename him The Collective Ex
He thinks it’s funny
we're so compatible
Mother of my son’s brother
how could I not love you
you say I remind you
of Botticelli’s Venus
I say your thighs are smooth
and cool as Rodin’s Francesca
When we reveal our romance to him
we emphasize convenience
Now you can visit
both sons in one house
It’ll be fun—
No, not that kind of fun
Losing My Mother to QAnon
She’s drunk on poison that turns frogs gay,
tipple of fluoride and silver oxide.
Lenticular clouds are alien ships. Sylphs,
she says, sent to mop up chemtrails.
A bat, a billionaire, and a scientist walk into
a Wuhan lab— I thought she was joking.
Beware the Hadron Collider, portal to Hell.
That’s Shiva in the lobby, dancing for doom.
Things she can’t unsee: bloodless sheep,
CIA sex slaves servicing Hillary.
BLM protesters are paid provocateurs; JayZ
and Beyoncé, illuminati. Lady Gaga
is Satan’s pawn. Gaga, Gaga, Gaga,
her Little Monsters chant, as if in a trance.
Sudasi Clement is the former poetry editor of Santa Fe Literary Review (2006-2016). Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Slipstream, Ligeia Magazine,Main Street Rag, pacificREVIEW, Loch Raven Review, Rat’s Ass Review, Ovunque Siamo, and Room Magazine, among others. She is the author of a chapbook, The Bones We Have in Common, published by Slipstream Press.