If Roseanne Barr died 4,645 times, death upon death; if she were lost
like screams in a hurricane; like an old man, legs swollen fat, his last
pill days ago; like a worker, head split by a falling tree; like a dead baby,
milky eyes seeing the afterlife; maybe if goddamn Roseanne Barr
coughed up seawater on TV as the president threw her paper towels
to dry the flooded roads and towns; maybe if she lost electricity, had no cold
food, no light, no telephone, no TV, no internet, no one watching
if Roseanne Barr had a heart attack and died.
If Roseanne Barr was Puerto Rico, maybe coquís would chirp
in her belly, begging for independence; maybe she get a generator
and star as a sassy working-class, white woman of abandoned cities,
a laugh track echoing in storm-gutted shells. Oh, how funny Dan is
when he dances with my aunt’s corpse. Look at them shake their hips!
If Roseanne Barr was an island taken by Spain, taken by America,
if she tied her uterus like a balloon knot to give visiting business
men sterile workers to “metaphorically” rape, well, at least we’d be
citizens; after all this, maybe we’d get help, maybe goddamn America
would give a shit if we died.
Photo credit: National Nurses United/Monterey Media. Edit: Indypendent Staff.