The speckled pigeon standing on the ledge
Outside the window is Jack Kennedy—
Standing on one leg and looking jerkily around
And staring straight into the room at me.
Ask not what your country can do for you—
Ask what you can do for your country.
Here’s how.
That wouldn’t be the way I’d do it.
I’m afraid you leave me no choice now.
The sequence begins with the grooves
Of the carving board
Filling with roast beef blood.
Everything keeps changing and we want it to,
But don’t want anything to change.
The pigeons fly back and forth
And look like they’re looking for something.
I went to sleep in Havana,
Turned over on my back in Saigon,
And woke up in Kabul,
With Baghdad as both air conditioner and down comforter.
The speckled pigeon standing on the ledge
Outside the window looks really a bit like me,
Me standing on one leg and looking jerkily around
And looking right into the room at me.
Unshaved men run Iran.
In consequence, Nixon with his five o’clock shadow
Rises from the grave to campaign.
His ghost can’t stop—even in broad daylight.
In certain neighborhoods, you hear a victim singing,
Corazón, you’re chewing on my heart!
Don’t forget to spit the seeds out!
Rat-a-tat. Shot dead in the street.
The pigeon outside on the ledge
Came back from Iraq with PTSD.
It stands there, standing on one leg in speckled camouflage,
Staring in through the window at the VA therapist.
Everything keeps changing and we want it to,
But don’t want anything to change. Stet.
Everything keeps changing and we want it to,
But don’t want anything to change.
Every day I don’t die is February 30th,
And more sex is possible.
Flocks of pigeons are whirling around and flash white
In the sunlight like they know something.
Here’s what. Here’s who needs to be made up.
Here’s who I would do.
The makeup artist is hard at work in the Oval Office.
The fireplace fire is lit with the air-conditioning on full blast.
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