Just reacting, y’all…

NEWS CONFERENCES

When the President says, “these pictures are not
the America I know,” I believe him in spite of
the crows that have slipped into the air above him,
that flew out of his mouth wanting
someplace cleaner to land. What America does he know,

they are thinking, circling Marion, circling Leavenworth,
Sand Creek, Vieques, Wounded Knee? What country does he know
that is free of hoods and electrodes, forced sodomy,
humiliation? That would be a great place to land,
they think, soaring out over the face of the flood.

When the President says, “These acts were perpetrated by
a few soldiers who will be prosecuted to…” , we know the rest:
the snakes drop from his lips and slide over his feet, tingling and venomous;
we’ll see small trials and big cameras
with someone bowing and scraping before them; and soon after, nothing

will happen. Somewhere a dove finds a tree
to land in, but something must have gotten there first;
there are big black feathers everywhere, shit covers the limbs,
bones in the droppings point to small violence repeated again and again;
there’s not a crow to be seen.

When the President says he knows he is right, I know he is telling
the truth. He can afford to be, in his world of crows and snakes
where no one is tortured who doesn’t deserve it, where he can shake his head
at people being people. “These are bad guys,” he says. He’s right.
War can do that: the love of country and home

makes bad guys of us all. The soldier smells Iowa in the fear-sweat of his charge
as he clips the wires onto the scrotum. The terrorist dreams of sheep and green pastures
in the light of burning towers. The crows steal the eyes from the bodies
that have been left behind. The snakes curl through ribcages and skulls. The waters are rising
higher all the time. The President is sure he’s got it right.

Just reacting, y’all…

NEWS CONFERENCES

When the President says, “these pictures are not
the America I know,” I believe him in spite of
the crows that have slipped into the air above him,
that flew out of his mouth wanting
someplace cleaner to land. What America does he know,

they are thinking, circling Marion, circling Leavenworth,
Sand Creek, Vieques, Wounded Knee? What country does he know
that is free of hoods and electrodes, forced sodomy,
humiliation? That would be a great place to land,
they think, soaring out over the face of the flood.

When the President says, “These acts were perpetrated by
a few soldiers who will be prosecuted to…” , we know the rest:
the snakes drop from his lips and slide over his feet, tingling and venomous;
we’ll see small trials and big cameras
with someone bowing and scraping before them; and soon after, nothing

will happen. Somewhere a dove finds a tree
to land in, but something must have gotten there first;
there are big black feathers everywhere, shit covers the limbs,
bones in the droppings point to small violence repeated again and again;
there’s not a crow to be seen.

When the President says he knows he is right, I know he is telling
the truth. He can afford to be, in his world of crows and snakes
where no one is tortured who doesn’t deserve it, where he can shake his head
at people being people. “These are bad guys,” he says. He’s right.
War can do that: the love of country and home

makes bad guys of us all. The soldier smells Iowa in the fear-sweat of his charge
as he clips the wires onto the scrotum. The terrorist dreams of sheep and green pastures
in the light of burning towers. The crows steal the eyes from the bodies
that have been left behind. The snakes curl through ribcages and skulls. The waters are rising
higher all the time. The President is sure he’s got it right.