Dick Cheney Speaks to Me in a Dream
The tree wells with sap, the sponge expands with brine,
a dishrag yields so much before it wrings dry,
it ends, it concludes, it terminates,
and you would tremble with fear to hear the briefings,
to see the demarcated targets—a certain fast food restaurant
where the women resemble butchered turkeys
in running shoes and polyester pants,
obese children waving their sad little bologna arms—
this was a McDonald's in Ohio, I believe,
but I can't speak to that directly, I cannot stipulate,
Ohio or possibly Oklahoma, I do not recall the particulars,
or choose not to, an heuristic of blindness, if you will.
The point is this: these are the lame zebras,
the slow wildebeest at the watering hole,
and the judicious response is to cull the herd,
a calibrated rebalancing akin to natural selection,
which by no means contradicts intelligent design—
survival of the fittest is a free market paradigm.
And we have a full menu of implementation options,
amazing, some of the prototypes I've signed off on,
the know-how, the technology of this ordinance.
To reflect honestly, I am awed at our place in the schema,
I am awed at the nimbus, almost a translucency,
the light shining right through solid objects.
We have so much to be thankful for and the prisoner
wants to take that from us but he will talk,
and when he does we will have the right team in place,
the appropriate people to make sense of his jabbering,
officers and specialists, magnificently trained,
folks who have dedicated their entire lives to this pursuit.
Freedom is a tough monkey but we will make him sing.