Poet's corner

Constitutionalist from Texas
on high wire, "Dr. No"
surrounded by his fans, shaking hands,
freezes as a photograph is taken.
Country music moans down
homely roads
past wide paddocks of grazing
longhorns.
Up north to the Iowa corn grid
he travels in a white minivan
past horizontal landscapes disappearing
in the gray of flat sleeping
clouds.
Crickets and prairie dogs spring
around.
Campaigning next to a station
wagon,
"freedom is still popular," he
says
gesturing his hands for government:
narrowing them closer… closer… closer
turning "far right" and "far left"
into a circle. The sun setting
then rises over plastic neon
lights.
After airplanes slammed the
twin towers:
falling like honeycombs downtown
New York
he spoke of "just war theory of
Christianity"
and how "we should listen to
our enemy"
and how "we'll be safe when democracy
spreads - but only through
our good example"
- libertarian and quotes
founding fathers,
draws support from peaceniks,
gun owners,
punk rockers, intellects, net
browsers,
and U.S. troops blustered in
Iraq,
every side of the politic spectrum.
Formally as an obstetrician
he ran for office skeptical of
winning
but families whose children he
delivered,
elected him ten terms in southern
prairies
this simple gold and silver
man.
FRANKLIN GILLETTE