Saturday, November 10, 2018

What Leads the Empty Suits?

In high school as a teenaged peasant
I watched the young aristos from afar,
But down a locker hall a young rock star
Once offered the crowd a present.
Like Conan he carried the wench
On his shoulder, urging the nobodies
To squeeze her denim-clad rear;
She laughed and didn’t clench,
I saw, when they drew near,
Though I could only hold back like Socrates
Muttering an awkward doubt:
Was this some twisted Robin Hood
Stealing the secrets of girlhood,
Lavishing riches on the washout?
Or were these young aristocrats—
Rich envied beauties that they were—
More like brazen vampire bats
Shaming the lowly poseur
With their backhanded gift,
Feeding off of awe and the spotlight?
While most at that age are adrift
One clique had the comfort of a birthright,
Dionysian orgies to attend,
Sports cars to drive and drugs to smoke,
Social ladders to ascend,
Demonic powers to invoke.
They padded their résumés, practiced fitting in
At student council, seeing nothing amiss
When only three votes were cast
To send them into low office;
Because it paid off a win is a win.
Meanwhile I mastered being an outcast:
With a dozen others I stood on stage as a prop,
As a tool and living backdrop
For a faint acquaintance to run 
In one such farce and be someone;
She pledged to deliver each a new desktop;
I heard the audience groan,
Since no one cares for a stepping stone.

At university the joiners played
As they had as privileged teens;
Now six not three students were swayed
To vote in these kings and queens.
Balding at twenty-five, philosophy nerd
Going nowhere with the herd,
I volunteered as student rep
To watch the apex wonders in the wild.
After hours we pretended we had power,
Careful to avoid any verbal misstep
Since a petty tyrant had beguiled
The others into following his lead;
As a gay student he ruled over the drama
Taking advantage of the liberal creed,
Interrupting and berating at will;
After all no mock trauma
Can compare to a gay man’s plight;
Our measly business was at a standstill
As the rivals carried on out of spite.

After my academic years
I took an interest in real politics;
The spoiled teens and politicos are peers,
I found, with the same bag of tricks;
Fully grown, they uphold the story
That democracy deserves respect,
That today’s empty suits reflect
The will of saintly common folk,
Since the Free World beat Hitler with Old Glory—
As if the West hadn’t risen through gun smoke,
Boundless hypocrisy and greed.
How could the free world still stand
With monstrous Trump freed
(Twenty-three percent gave him the lead)
If the state weren’t already unmanned?
Garland’s robbed of his seat at the court;
In goes a weaselly fake-Christian hack;
Republicans unite to troll and thwart
A black president and take back
The memory of his name
Because he’d mocked Donald’s fame.
Wealth matters, not the vote;
As always the boys’ club reigns;
The seasoned leader’s cutthroat
But phony if he feigns
To stand for something more than the fun
Of reveling in evil with impunity,
Of burning central as the sun,
Hoisting her and daring the community
To resist and think of the long run.

What hyperobject did I glimpse that day?
What genetic bond drives elites to prance
While dupes and loners betray
Themselves with a crippling trance?


"Vote for Summer!" from "Napoleon Dynamite"

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