by Jake Reynolds

In response.

When he touches down he is walking, all talk,
cornered in Hallmark by British small talk.

He’s brought whiteness. It made his polls snowball.
He throws baubles over garden walls; talk

turns them to mothballs. Bright things stay away.
His gifts are books and reports, town hall talks

by Muslim authorities on warmth and forbearance.
He awkwardly paws at his thatch, performs pub crawl talk.

He makes for the doors adorned with flyers, causes
for the poor, and in them all, his face. Eyeballs talk

at this back. Icy pause. ‘Winter Fund: Inform
& Educate Mr Trump.’ Outside, snowfall talks

the language of accordance. It borders the hall.
He forges his downfall, a one-word shortfall: talk.

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