by Ed Bennett
There are nights when I dream
of George Bush discussing philosophy
with Blaise Pascal,
sometimes the father,
sometimes the son,
every time an absurd enjoyment,
or Homer and Bill Clinton –
ol’ folksy Bill contemplating
the pull of an oar
on wine dark seas,
Jimmy Carter and Gandhi
contemplating deities, religious systems,
boring – I move on
to my favorite:
John Adams throwing a roundhouse
at some random legislator
shouting “WRONG!” as he connects.
Dreams, absurd illusions,
Place holders for reality
during the boredom of night
spinning toward sunrise,
an old kinescope
run for my amusement.
Fading at sunrise,
the coffe jolt and
the news paper announcing:
the president read Camus,
Clinton crossed a turbid ocean,
and Saint Jimmy went to Stockholm.
Absurd illusions,
place holders for reality
framing my day
begun with a daily prayer
for the second coming of
John Adams’ fist.
Ed Bennett is a telecom engineer living in Las Vegas. He was born and raised in new York City, lived for a time in the New Jersey suburbs, eventually moving to the bucolic Eden of the Mojave Desert. His work has appeared in The Manhattan Quarterly, The Paterson Literary Review and he was a past finalist for The Alan Ginsberg Poetry Award.