HONOR GUARD
Soft muted early winter light
outside the National
Cathedral. Great whorl
of reds & blues, at dazzling height
O rose window, still glowing bright.
The honor guard (Marines,
Army, Navy) forms lines
like intricate toy soldiers (boy’s delight) –
maneuvering, in wonderful coordination
powerful precision
beneath the boom of cannon,
brass band’s hopeful invocation.
The dignitaries have assembled.
Paired front aisles unveil
in allegorical detail
old icons of authority (kings trembled
once, when they beheld such signs
of a succession crisis).
On the right, witness
the mourning son & heir – thin lines
of tears streak from his hawk’s eye,
flank his aquiline profile,
his anxious beak. Meanwhile,
on his left, an accidental guy –
the crown-usurper (with a face
like a disgruntled frog).
Even Sully the dog
got more headlines than such disgrace,
the preacher said (speaking in tongues).
Haunted, defunct princes,
princesses acquiesce...
the fatal, dominant thug belongs
*
to us. Chief executive,
or executioner?
Headsman (for our
gentler Republic)? How can we live
in a democracy, ruled by despot?
We cannot. Our choice
is clear, as once we faced
when Lincoln gave it voice – the violet
is trodden underfoot by hate.
What’s at the root
of all our discontent?
Man’s thirst for domination, set
in place since his umbilical was cut;
rage at the shrinking womb.
Like Jonah’s boat-turned-tomb
of alien Leviathan, the doors of Night
close, flooding, overhead... the child’s
unconscious & primordial
nightmare (abyssal
mystery). Note each tyrant’s wild
psycho-disgust... the fluttering hands,
the flickering deceit
– detached from all sweet
reconciliations, lawful bonds.
The flag-draped casket of the patriarch
squares with the glowing rose
window. Still hearth glows,
somehow – Wisdom’s scintillating ark.
12.6.18
