DC Dichotomy
You slash verse from the budget,
Until it’s got no place
In the curriculum you claim
Reading a mathematical
Text and rote memorization
Of tainted historical facts are
The cure for all that ails us (which
To you is simply the
l
a
g
g
ing e-con-
o-me.) While,
The Poet Laureate sits in
A swanky Washington office and
Fumbles with his pen, wondering
“Why the fuck am I here?” Searching
For a job description (an-
y – where) when he knows
Across The Mall ogres
Argue against art.
So, he swooshes the air
With a sword that seems
To have lost its point. Slammed
Into this world, born
Artists, naked in this story,
(for every yin, a yang,
every tick, a tock,
every flip, a flop,
for every battlefield casualty, a premature birth)
We know, Mr. Conservative,
Why you hate poetry
And wish you could bury
It in some sandy lot next
To back copies of the New
York Times: the truth makes
An ass of you, the butt
Of each joke in poetry and its mirror
News of words.
And time,
Well, time reveals
Your task, Mr. Laureate –
Take that pen down
From above the hearth
To remind us why
Each stanza matters.
LOVE this poem~!
This was excellently written.
“So, he swooshes the air
With a sword that seems
To have lost its point.”…was quite striking. I was there in the office with him.