by Rob Spiegel
A gala apple tastes the same when you’re
President – a crisp crunch. Pasta isn’t
the same. The ego has gone sideways –
the bravado of free-world leadership straining
against attacks claiming incompetence, the air
filled with prayers for failure, a rough rain on the
thin membrane of personality. And letters
from the parents of dead child soldiers. Not
a way to turn that doesn’t hurt, while living
in a house designed to end all pain. Obama
would like to slip out for Thai food – pot
stickers with sweet and spicy peanut sauce.
Bite down on a gala is all that’s left of
home, of the man we knew who knew himself.
Rob Spiegel is a freelance journalist living in New Mexico. When he's not writing about politics, Supergirl and factory automation, he's making calls for New Mexico gubernatorial candidate Diane Denish (Democrat).
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