Trump Mouth
His mouth is pouty and wet with concentration.
I am in a hotel bed, engulfed by blindingly white, messy bedclothes.
Donald J. Trump sits across from the bed in a tiny slipper chair.
His body dwarfs it, as if he is a giant and the chair is meant for a doll.
He is attempting to use a lap-top, also dwarfed by his presence, to look up something on the internet.
His mouth is pouty and wet with concentration.
He types the address into the window.
I can see what he is doing even though the screen is facing him, not me.
He repeatedly types in wwwpinkscam.com and it fails to take him to the site every time.
After witnessing this a few times, I decide not to tell him there’s a full-stop after www.
I cannot take my eyes off his repulsive, twisting, animal mouth.