Spectrophotoelectric
BY SHELLY BRYANT I JULY 8, 2008

Poacher encroaching
on private places,
spaces kept from
roving ears;
protected, or
so you had believed.
Public display of
personal discussions,
attempts to
undermine political
opposition,
anti-war sentiment.
Tapes released,
resignation
preventing
impeachment
proceedings'
implementation.
Your cry, victory.
Your prize, shame.

Thin metal
smoking guns
on which thoughts
are engraved,
Absorbing
deep-throated
voices' light,
radiating ideas
broadcast
into public sphere
on a 3-day
rotation schedule,
the wavelength
always in proportion
to electrons emitted
into unthinking
public's ear.

We are resigned
to your rule,
unelected though
you remain.
A trip down
a stair case,
stumbling bumbling
commander in
chief, put on
live show each
Saturday night,
inviting a laugh
at his folly, his falls,
recorded, taken
in, mimicked,
replayed on
Comedy Central still
decades later
for the international
audiences you
always sought—
a veto not for
overriding.
An image retained,
repeated, you,
begging your pardon,
remembered
for all that.

Retiring at last
to harvest the
peanuts for which
you'd worked;
your nemesis
half a hemisphere
away releases
his hostages,
history recorded
onscreen, as if
to spite you, your
reign remembered
for hour-long
gas lines and
hostages held for
hundreds of days.
Their hands at their
release wave
greetings in the air
high overhead,
from jet disembarking
as your successor
raises his own hand
in oath, sworn in
to your office.

Cold War ended
Contra hearings
commenced—if
the old man can
keep awake.
Arms sold
to secure freedom
for hostages; sold
before their
capture, long
after their release.
Apology over
airwaves, metallic
recordings,
radiating repentance
for the nation's ear,
like solar panels
drawing in light,
emitting charged energies.
Ignorance,
no excuse,
prevents indictment
of presidents
still, leaving
precious approval
ratings intact.

No new taxes,
the promise you
just couldn't keep.
The price paid
in proportion
to the falsehood
of the promise.
War is forgiven,
violence forgotten,
provided pocketbooks
are left untouched.

Media's darling
their poppet
their puppet—
the light of your
eyes gazing through
our screens, absorbed
in the meaning of
"is" (what does
it mean, anyway?).
Radiating goodwill,
your ratings go up,
fair female
constituents—
oh so PC and
tolerant—pity,
as you spend
your nights on White
House couch.

Fortunetellers
prophesy, pointing
to foreign invasion,
a nuclear threat—
falsified files,
reporting foul
violations, fueling
the calls for war.
And Sonny Boy
is made fool
for public
entertainment.
Your war, like
Daddy's, televised,
recorded, reported,
round the globe,
round the clock.

Like sheep dumbly
following shepherd's
voice and crook-
ended rod (why not?
he feeds us, after all).
Who ever heard of
sheep selecting their
own shepherd?
Who'd give the
lambs a vote?
Heed their bleating,
stop the bleeding

Spin doctors sit
staring at lenses
trained on their faces;
soothsayer spewing
latest revelations,
recorded now
digitally, repeated
over and over,
via satellite.
Prognosticators'
predictions
set public
policy, and so
we prepare for war.
The shepherd
spews rhetoric,
his sheep follow
dumbly after as,
Arms raised high
overhead, the
prophet, the
augur swings
his crook'd
lightning rod,
his lituus.

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