Poem for Day 252 – 20150910
Welcome the surprise populist,
scrying the unwashed masses.
Appeal to the revealed tea leaves
in the cup of hopes and fears.
Ignore the candidate's status,
as lofty as the clouds to earth.
The man seen behind the curtain
promotes the magic sleight of hand.
He's acknowledged as the craftsman,
negotiator with apt guiles.
Allow him to speak to the crowd,
the minions held at his command.
I've come down from the mountain
to walk the earth as one of you.
We once had nothing in common
and now we both want me to rule.
Your leaders are now my bitches,
put in their place by my tongue.
I am you from so far above,
made manifest by their truth.
I'll manage what others cannot,
your fevered unstated wishes.
Conjoling the cards of anger,
stacked like populist cordwood.
© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.