What Is Truth?

By Wells Burgess

Deep in the South, men gather.
First among equals, the Kingfish,
upstage, and it is only he
whose face you see; his minions –
that includes me, Markie –
have their backs to you. The Boss
plays solitaire; the cards slap
the table. “Markie,” he says,
where we gon’ put that road?”
“DeVreaux and the boys got
them all whupped up in Jasmine,”
I say. “Chairman talkin’ like
it’s yesterday. Folks
so starved for traffic, they’ll
walk ten miles on crutches
to vote for you.” Kingfish
looks me in the eye. “Markie,”
he says, “I  got a debt to pay.
Judge in Bayou goin’ on and on
bout how we are ‘destroyin
rural culture’ with the highway
projects. Owns a big tract. We
gon’ run that road right thoo
it so he hears them big eight wheelers
when he lays him down to rest.”
“Boss,” I says, “we got a rally
in Jasmine, big parade and all.
Tenth-grader singin a song he made up
about the highway they’re gettin.
Shall I call it off?” “Hell, no,”
says the Boss. He looks me right
in the eye. “Markie,” he says,
“Do you trust me?” And I say
back, “I do.”
The scene goes dark; another lights:
Jasmine Parish: scrub country,
hard-bitten faces, an old dirt road,
a boy, a wheel, a stick, Kingfish
on the stump. “We gonna’
put my big new highway right
thoo this ol’ Parish,” he says.
“Hire your boys to build it. Only
ramp for 60 miles go right to
this town. You folks gonna
be eatin the fat o’ the land.
Ain’t that right, Markie,”
he says to me. “Amen,” I say.
The scene goes dark. Another lights:
the Kingfish’s election headquarters,
a victory celebration. “I want a
Parish by Parish count,”
the Kingfish yells. When it comes
to Jasmine, DeVreaux shouts
“Eighty percent!” So I ask
the Boss, “So we gon’ give em
their road?” “Hell no,” he says.
“Goin’ thoo Bayou. Plans drawn,
press release tomorrow.” “What
we gon’ tell em down in Jasmine?”
The Kingfish looks me right in
the eye. “Tell em I lied,” he says.
DeVreaux won’t do it, so I make
the trip myself. Press release
come out, Chairman calls
a meetin’ of the Parish Council.
I show up. “Wha’ happened?”
Chairman asks. “He bout
guarantee us that road.” I
step right up. “Boss told me
to tell you he lied,” I say.
Folks bustin out cryin
and cursin, bout half of em
run on out the hall. Chairman
and others, DeVreaux’s people,
they stay quiet, and pretty soon
Chairman starts to chuckle.
“That’s the Kingfish for ya,”
he says. “Thoo and thoo.
Our turn will come.
He gon’ see to it.”

Wells Burgess began writing poetry late in life. His work has appeared in The Lyric, Measure, The Beltway Quarterly, Light, Think, Passager,, The Federal Poet, and Better Than Starbucks. In retirement, he teaches poetry at Encore Learning in Arlington, Virginia.

Photo credit: “I Win” by Kevin Labianco via a Creative Commons license.

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