By Jack Mackey
In the Oval Office dripping in rehearsed applause
from the full-pocketed and the bloated
paid to do a job by corporate wardens enriched
by a three-strike law that scooped up traffic
violators like escaped farm animals
surrounded by billionaire brothers who bought
a conscience on closeout after years of dictating to
lap dog stenographers in the Capitol their wishes
placing innocents into the jaws of a meat grinder
smoothing silk tie with one hand he grins
and turns with camera-ready graciousness to his left
to his right cloaks himself in the mantle of
unearned praise halfway extends his barely average
hands to his greedy kin who get credit for
finally noticing injustice now
because it nested in their family patch
he moves the pen up and down with theatrical force
forging a scribbled signature turning his name towards
the cameras like a child with a finger painting.
I watch this revival-tent duplicity on my TV
wondering, how do we mend a wingless sparrow how
do we put a daddy’s push on the seat of a girl’s swing how
do we place a mother’s palm on a boy’s delicate
fingers guiding as he practices his letters.
How will a new law fix a bad law, return
the confiscated lift all the clothes and furniture
evicted to the curb and fly them back inside the house?
Jack Mackey lives in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, and Washington, D.C. He holds an M.A. in English from the University of Maryland. His poems have been published by, or forthcoming in, Darkhouse Books, the Rehoboth Beach Writers’ Guild, Third Wednesday and Rat’s Ass Review.
Photo credit: From the ACLU website.
Share your thoughts about this.