Eric the Blue

In his poem “The Great Society”–title refers to President Johnson’s domestic program–the American (rural Minnesota, born and bred) poet Robert Bly begins with dentists who “continue to water their lawns even in the rain” before proceeding to hands that, having been “developed with terrible labor by apes,” now “hang from the sleeves of evangelists.” Later, we are told that “[t]he president dreams of invading Cuba.”

I’ve been thinking that, were the poem to be updated for MAGA times, the Secretary of War would be blowing up little fishing boats in the Caribbean while the president pores over blueprints for his ballroom. The updated poem would have to be longer than a sonnet if we wanted to allude also to the MMA fights on the White House lawn, the algae in the reflecting pool over which Lincoln gazes sternly, and the brilliant planning for the Iran war from which it appears we will be extricated by folding like a poor man holding a pair of nines.

You know, without evidence, that the corpses in those fishing boats were “narco-terrorists” because the guys who can’t get the algae out, or lay a plan for what to do if Iran closes the Strait, could not possibly be confused about three things. I’m leaving out all the dead elementary school children. Details!

The bit about the president dreaming of invading Cuba could stand.