Tuesday, October 18, 2011

When Everyone Was To Be Trusted

Perhaps the greatest joy
is of the astounded child,
realizing how small she is
in comparison
to the massive, ominous force in front of her.
She is but a beetle to a mountain
(a lady-beetle, she'd tell you,
with her dotted, patriotic sundress, minus the blue -
"that's for boys!")

She imagines herself upon the pseudo-altar
(Oh, how the Presider's chair presents no real power!)
with the Senators around her,
like the spots on her dress.

Eventually, her father grows bored
gets restless
wonders why he came to the Chamber
realizes that his daughter could be Gillibrand
or Boxer.
But hopefully Gillibrand.
Still, his stomach calls out louder
than the Quorum
ever could.

As she ascends
the gallery steps, her eyes,
void of any cynicism,
meet mine.
Her penetrating smile reflects on my face
and she waves at the Page,
bluer than blue in body and soul.
(not just for boys anymore).

Perhaps the greatest sorrow is in her countenance,
when I cannot wave back.