Poem of the Day

Political Song for an Old Man to Sing

From the distant fields behind his house
comes the sound of thunder and quiet shush
of falling rain. Inside, he regards his image
in the tarnished mirror which hangs
on the dining room wall. His mind unfurls
and he's President again, standing
somber under flags which whip and drain
of life above his head. Decorated men
speak in languages he's never heard
and a translator whispers into his ear
abstractions like hope, dream and peace.
There's a joke he remembers about a clown
eating in a diner--the President smiles, nods
and the cameras click like breaking twigs.
In the dining room, he looks past his face
to the sheets of rain flipping in the field.
On the porch, he tilts his head, walks
into the downpour, arcs of light
popping above, and listens to the voices
of the rain speak of beautiful boys and girls
of deserts and the failing light from the west.
He raises his face to the water, arms wide
at his side and the afternoon breaks
into the comforting sound of applause.