Forgiven Poem by Doug Lane

All my enemies are dead.
As are many of my friends.
Those who remember
my wrongdoing,
my failures, my sins,
are either buried
or in memory care units,
unable to remember
where their own behinds,
much less mine,
are.

In effect,
I've been blanket pardoned,
not by Trump
but by Time.
No more fears of blackmail.
I've outlived
my extortionists.

Except for one.
Me.
I'm constantly
refreshing my memory
of all my sins
and threatening
to expose my
filthy laundry
to the world,
which could care less
what I manage
to do right or wrong.

Nor can it
tell the difference.

It's been too long
since my stains, my sins,
were fresh.
If I want to stay relevant
to my fans and blackmailers,
including myself,
i've got to commit more,
and top myself,
on a daily basis,
as does
my President.

He's mastered the art
of keeping himself
in the limelight.
He understands
it doesn't matter
if what he does
is wrong or right,
or very Far Right,
or Alt Right,
just so long
as it's a sin
in
the current
news cycle.

He learned long ago
that forgetting
is like forgiving
in America.
And Americans
have
very short
memories.