The President

by Miniter Watley

The President
came in a box of new blue
cheer, with a
new blue jeer, on the
white plate special, with a
red-blooded promise;
jiggled through the
backlands made
his speech howdy friend
I love this country
vote for me;
we did.

His nose now
is the prow
of the ship of state, it plows
through our televised daydreams
like an angry biscuit with
a message about
morality, trickling money
hot and cold running
wars, and politics
so honest you can
eat off'em.

We call him through
the rotary club on our
rotary dial
he listens through two
clear corporate ears.

And sticks to the bottom
of the republic like
gum; he's always there
speaks to God he really
cares for America, he
prays for it
every day once a minute
he says, hates
the evil ones
hates the enemies
we’ll kill them all
make new ones if we need’ta
just to keep the pumps
from jamming.

I am he said the way
the wave, the welfare, the
waste-saviour, the
weight lifted
the waiting angel
climb upon the turgid wax,
my wing.

I can ignite you, fight you
light you, upright you stand
so tall in the saddle
you from my eyes can see
the far distant wall
of the Nation
rise into the
chaste morning sky.

See then the
land of aluminum
muleteams,
push-button guarantees, razor
firm handshakes, hot
promise pie, and the
President, who
entered stage ohso right
when some one day
enthralled valve
shuddered,
chafed the air then
surrendered its
delicate moistened charge
like prime beefsteak
into the holy chartered
cellophane
everlasting.

Miniter Watley lives and works outside of Dresden, Tennessee, where he "writes code by day and writes poetry by night to manage the toxicity." He has a wife, a daughter, and a dog named Lassiter. His first volume of poems, Why I Hate the Things I Love, is now "undergoing the last ravages of the editor's hand."
He says that "The President" was written in 1970 and in no way applies to any other president, current or past, but that he for some reason felt the need to submit the poem this year.