The Inexplicable Journey of the Taco Bell Lobster by Robert Beveridge

Your doctor says you’re not
supposed to smoke the MAGA
apple, though you can get
the necessary equipment
to vaporize it at a handful
of new dispensaries around
the city. You ponder
how difficult it would be
to drop a few seeds, grow
your own on the down low,
maybe make a few extra bucks
from the locals with no scripts
and a whole bed full of Confederate
couture. There’s a lot to be said
for complicity when all the colors
that matter are green, green,
green, and Granny Smith red.