A.C.B.

even her alphabet’s

skewed.

stripped of her princely

robes she stands bare-assed

naked,–– not like Venus,

righteous from the quahog,–– but 

plopped from the tube

in a flawed appearance.

she comes sweet-tongued upon the palette of the nation

in the spirit of the biblical serpent she's aligned herself with; 

a radiant

duper ––

harboring a mortal blotch

only her God can remove.

"so help me God" she sang slithering on the branch of congress.

"paint me with all my warts and moles"?

you bet, A.C.B.

it’s done.