Devonne Brown

Like Jack Sparrow, the captain rode the boat into the harbor from only the mast of the sails guiding it like a horse with pastel chiffon reigns. Each Rainbow Cruise was the best kept secret in America. Each crew member, captain, passenger, and stowaway wore their own albatross if they were liberals, or scarlett letters for those that identified as “LGBT or Q,” emblazoned on their chests. They were all meant to go down with their ship to drown, to become treasure of the deep. They were guarded and led by their own rainbow dragon, to the sirens and Charybdis, the route of Odysseus’ men. The survivors to the Cyclops, where Nobody, in the strictest sense of the word, would survive, but they managed. They all managed. They were treasure.

They were followed by the Dragon of the Order of the Rainbow. Where they battled the Magats, the red hat-bearers that bore the letters MAGA on the forehead of the hat and MAGAT in red on their foreheads, their bangs all shaved for all the world to see. 

There were rednecks and fundamentalists, bikers, and drunks, a basket of deplorables running the docks. It wasn’t safe to come ashore nor was it safe to stay aboard the boat. Slings and arrows of discontent, synchronized swimming were the outcast’s weapons against the MAGATs who were just as well prepared with their thoughts and prayers who joined hands in protests as the undesirables came ashore and the dragon melted the MAGATs like salt on slugs.