Monday, April 2, 2012

The Handshake

.
.
.
This afternoon,
a young man with
a printed brochure in hand
came to the door.
He said he was experienced and energetic;
he'd been a County Commissioner,
had worked for state senators and representatives,
and now was running for the state legislature.
I wanted to tell him
what the fuck do you think you're doing,
still trying to help people, trying to change things,
after years embedded in the beast?
Aren't you despondent and disillusioned,
completely dissuaded from your proximity
to the political endgame to ever
want to represent any constituency ever again?
I didn't tell him, but I think he knew.
He shook my hand anyway.
.
.
.


4 comments:

  1. For Warmth

    I hold my face in my two hands.
    No, I am not crying.
    I hold my face in my two hands
    To keep the loneliness warm-
    Two hands protecting,
    Two hands nourishing,
    Two hands preventing,
    My soul from leaving me
    In anger.

    “Call me by my true names”: the collected poems of Thich Nhat Hanh

    ReplyDelete
  2. I have the same problem with people that insist on a strict class analysis (or gender analysis or whatever) when only a goulash will do. You know at this point that shouting "Oh, grow up" will only kick in the old-dog-new-tricks rule.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I actually liked this guy--not a revolutionary, perhaps, but a youngish democrat who seemed to know what it means to try to be active in the beast's belly. I am, I have become, in several ways, a grouchy curmudgeon--but not always. I am both afraid for and heartened by those who are not.

      Delete