Moi?
Oh, simple enough if you possess that
requisite flair for the stage -- all the more
so if your stage is politics where drama
of one kind or another is always expected
and expected to be dealt with. Flair and
finesse help. And if you're caught in one
of those bold-faced lies, express a contrite
mea culpa, adding you had the best of
intentions. Be brazen, and smile for the
following stage is that celebrity-popularity
role you were born to. Not your fault you
were born to charm and if that quality is
an aid to deception, so be it. Politics, after
all. The world's your oyster and you're its
pearl, didn't your mama tell you so? Your
papa was the Northern Magus, both such
talented thespians gifting you with that
magic essence called charisma, capable of
enchanting the naive and easily led who
will not credit charges of corruption nor
dereliction of duty, nor malevolence to one
so given to generously giving of himself
to the applause of that adoring audience
championing your casual distribution of
the nation's wealth in a bold and direct bid
to garner votes ... and good man ... it works!
Friday, July 10, 2020
Labels:
Poetry
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment