All Rulings Are Final Rulings

by Jim Redmond

I was king for a day. 

I felt like a glass box 

with exactly $3 inside, 

like I showed up to the water shortage 

with two 10-gallon toilets; 

a kind of publicity stunt 

that can’t be undone: 

the latest public housing expo. 

I was given a gold chain to wear 

I couldn’t see past: 

a flimsy quintessence; 

the body of Christ dangled 

in front of a motorcade like a carrot; 

a self-portrait the size of a howitzer 

I was told to preside over, 

to garner distrust.

Even the royal self was subject. 

I spit proclamations 

like sunflower seeds 

courtside at Caesar’s Palace; 

commissioned an airport terminal 

from my head to my heart, 

a Slip ‘n Slide from my ear 

to my tongue. 

All of my thumbs-down 

were final, my thumbs-up 

less certain. 

The people said I needed 

to conquer something substantial. 

I decided to conquer the trends. 

Everything I touched 

turned to Auto-Tune.