After T.S. Eliot
A warm time we had getting here,
Just the best of times—selling off
Oil fields to the Brits for our bomber boy’s freedom,
Camping out in a tent overnight
In Donnie Trump’s back yard,
Watching the babes walk their
Poodles in the neighborhood.
Yesterday, my pal Ahkie from Iran
Stopped in for a quick puff on the big pipe
(unbeknownst, of course to the Khomani)
and we talked into the night about all
things oil and weapons and nuclear fission.
Today, we shall go over to the tall building
With the elevators. I hate elevators,
But they say I can walk up the stairs,
Swish my beautiful jeweled turban,
My silk robe, gold inlaid sandals.
It’s important to display gifts given
To me by the big boys just before
They make their speeches today.
It’s been a while since I was here.
But I should be glad to wait again.
Earl J. Wilcox writes about aging, baseball, literary icons, politics, and southern culture. His work appears in more than two dozen journals; he is a regular contributor to The New Verse News. More of Earl's poetry appears at his blog, Writing by Earl.
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