by Earl J. Wilcox
Last night the dog fidgeted,
paced the kitchen tile,
hinted at something exotic under cabinets
or the garbage hamper,
staring at unlikely places
as if her treasure were stuffed
inside with coffee grounds, burnt toast,
Buffalo wing bones,
a drink can that managed
to escape the recycling bin.
When Vice-President Dick Cheney
returned from his recent trip
to assuage our friends,
massage our enemies,
looking for treasure in unlikely places,
someone asked if he were aware
that most Americans hold none
of his views about progress and eventual outcome of the Iraq war.
Like my dog sitting beside the garbage hamper, waiting for an end game sure never to come, Cheney replied: “SO?”
Earl J. Wilcox writes about aging, baseball, literary icons, politics, and southern culture. His work appears in more than two dozen journals; he has contributed some 45 poems to New Verse News.
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