Interrogation Theatre


So I wrote him a poem. It’s actually an adaptation of a poem I wrote a few years ago, but I actually like this one better than the original. I think having one person to focus on gives it more intensity, y’know? Anyway – do you think he’ll like it?

I watch you in the White House. I watch you on TV.
I watch you trying to outline your swinish new reality; I watch you
laughingly tell other men how very easy it can be
to grab insecure young girls by parts of their anatomy
the network news would have to bleep on grounds of taste and decency;
I watch you. And I know what I would like to do to thee.

I’d like to strike one silent night and catch you unawares
as you prevaricate atop a flight of unexpected stairs,
lightly push your shoulder as I kick you in the knee
then saunter vaguely downwards as you’re fucked by gravity –
which force – let me assure you – is a warm-up act compared to me.

Then: fade to black. Then smash cut to a room with just one column
to which you’re handcuffed naked. While you cower and cringe like Gollum
I take time laying out my tools. Interrogation theatre:
I know I won’t use most of them. But seeing leads to fear.

and fear depends on timing, so I let you watch them glint.
I look you in your eyes. I smile. I offer you a mint.
Then, while you’re wondering whether you should answer yes or no,
I throw the tube over my shoulder just to let you fucking know
that you are trapped inside a space over which you have no control.


I watch you sweat. I watch you shake. I watch you start to gulp,
then I stroke your grey and wrinkled balls and whisper ‘Mister Trump,
I want you to understand that everything we do today
is absolutely sanctioned by the good ol’ USA,
100% PATRIOT, hashtag em ay gee ay,
so – I can quote Bane too – let’s not stand on ceremony, eh?

First, I’ll –

Oh, I’m sorry, baby. Does this sound a little rough?
Don’t worry! It’s not torture! This is what we call alt-love!
I’d never torture anyone, I’m gentle as a dove,
of course you’re free at any time to say you’ve had enough!
Of course, I also might not listen. And if you don’t like that? Tough.


All these threats of violence? I’m not serious, you mug!
I’m as ironic as a sieg heil or a racist cartoon frog!
As puckish as an unpunched punk pretending it’s a game
when millions of people are afraid to get on planes
in case the country they return to will not have them back again.
Don’t call this inciting violence – this is just a silly meme!

So before you go on Twitter saying how upset you are, you wanker,
why don’t you stop being such a snowflake, mate, all this is just the banter,
yeah? I’m not here to hurt you, Donald. I’m just here to teach you.
If that means delivering electric shocks to your urethra,
well, more fun for me, eh? Now. Forget the world beyond this room.
You can stay in here. With me. ‘Cause out there? Mother’s coming home.’



I thank you.


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