The Wrong Hands
The president has said that,
in this crisis, our secret weapon
is our character, our moral fiber,
our soul. He can’t talk without lying,
he and his team
can’t think unless elaborating
some lie, but here
he sounded sincere;
sincerity is their truth. Which leads
one to ask, In what sense
is the soul a weapon?
What sort of weapon is it?
A gun, pursuing virtue
one enemy at a time?
Artillery routing the putative
souls of many enemies?
Is it space-based, a laser
focused by God? I imagine
something more recondite,
new, truly secret:
a bubble the size of a breadbox,
preternaturally light, drifting,
popped by some angle, scattering
droplets over a wide area
so nothing breathes.
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