Republican Living Rooms
I have known the Republican living rooms,
spacious, the oversize furniture,
overstuffed linen floral, the big
mahogany coffee-tables heavey as map-tables
in some war room, the huge clawed feet
piercing the deep wall-to-wall,
the table-lamps large and brutal,
their tall, shot-silk shades
shedding a bright gold haze,
the light of the rich, the high ceilings,
the strange spaces between the chairs and couches
after most of the guests have gone.
Those who remain are drunk, so they take up
more space, their thick financial
auras expanding in the quiet. All is
suspended in the 14-carat
blaze of the lamps turned up so high.
It takes a while to notice there is something
going on near the doorway into
the well-appointed dining room-
some kind of tussle. On the carpet, the host
is kneeling on the throat of a woman,
her face streaked with blood. His cheeks are
glazed with sweat and happiness.
When she dies he glitters with excitment, his life
makes sense. He has a brief moment,
before anyone comes close,
of perfect bliss- he has finally found something
he really likes, something he can do
for fun. Best of all, it costs
absolutely nothing.
