Obama
In a mystical sense, I’ve already
written about Obama.
My friends demand a well-researched,
psychologically penetrating poem
about him. After all,
political hope is all
we have, and they rely on me,
alone among the poets of the day,
to recall that. But I yearn
for the approval of the avant-garde
and mainstream. Coiffed and tenured,
richly humanistic, they are publishers,
critics, grant-disposers or
have access to presses, reviews, and grants.
And if they noticed me, oh how happy
I would be, and how beneficent
an influence that handshake
would have on all poetry!
And fantasizing it colors
my imagination, so that there may be
realities I miss, and I fall short of genius …
Just kidding! But it’s true
I tend to ignore
the entreaties of my friends (who are themselves
mystical entities), and fob them off
with the old slogan of Arthur Adamov:
Everything must be done! Everything shall be done!
Everything has already been done!
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