Parched


There’s a pastiche on the counter at the video place of

George Bush on a motorcycle

wearing shades and a black leather jacket.

He looks handsome.


In this guise his trademark smirk is just

the insouciant smile of a guy having some fun.

If he hadn’t been born again and become the president,

we would have accepted his personality, or never even known about it.


He wouldn’t have seemed so pained:

flat, open features stretched—

parched and desiccated—

by the effort to appear presidential.

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