Abstract
In this coupling of autoethnography and poetic inquiry, I offer a poem in three parts: the first, a rant; the second, a confession; and the third, a hope. Each part identifies a different way I am experiencing the current political scene, one that I find dangerous to our collective future. I call on the poetic as a method of political intervention.
1.
Stopping One Day’s Aerial Bombardment in the Middle East
We could build a school worthy of our children, could neutralize an environmental hazard, could feed the homeless in a major city, could open a free medical clinic, could repair a rickety bridge, could . . . We could decrease the number of soldiers who are seriously wounded, who need psychiatric care, who find love ones turning away, who no longer trust their country, who . . . We could halt the daily count of the dead– those fighters who followed tyrants, zealots, and warmongers, those civilians who just wanted to live their lives, those children who were huddling in fear, those who must carry the bodies away, those who . . . We could tell our politicians to stop using war as a way to display their patriotic bravado, as a means for winning another election, as an economic stimulus, as a strategy to line their own packets, as a . . . We could remember how a moral democracy might resist the temptation to lie, might keep itself from a politics of domination, might behave in the face of aggression, might come to value all life on earth, might . . .
2.
Given Our President
I am afraid that my life might end from a rocket fired or a bomb dropped by North Korea, by Russian, by China, by other nations who have had enough of our policies of muscle flexing, by a foreign or home-grown terrorist group, by our own incompetence. I am afraid that the nuclear option is an option by those who accept mutual mass destruction as a justifiable cost of war, who believe launching a nuclear bomb will show our enemies, whoever they might be, that we are tough, can’t be pushed around, who have no conception of what a nuclear war might do. I am afraid, like I was when I went with my parents to shop for a bomb shelter, like when I was doing duck and cover drills at school, like when I was in Vietnam hiding in my bunker, praying sand bags might protect me from a direct hit. Now, I need to be conspicuous. I can’t keep my head down, hoping soon everyone, even Republicans, will see the danger, will call for impeachment before it’s too late. I am afraid because so few are speaking out, maybe because they feel hopeless, or maybe because they are in denial, or maybe because they believe sanity will take hold. I am afraid because such thinking won’t stop a thing, because when all is said and done, we will be done, no side a winner, no patriotic victory songs, just millions of lives lost, the rest struggling to survive in an uninhabitable planet.
3.
Our Politicians Should Remember
the toddler’s kiss, two lips pressed flat against a cheek, a lesson on the joy learning can bring the first kiss, sweet, awkward delight, how the body awakened, absorbed what touching could do the friendship kiss, respectful, marking lines, gathering allies, and the cost of connections the passionate kiss of lovers how they fall into each other, are taken in, surrender, give the familiar kiss of continuous commitment, trustworthy, telling you where you belong the forgotten kiss that neglects those put aside, dismissive, of those out of view the aged kiss, perfected, a caress that says yes, that carries history, that is needed the patriotic kiss, embracing, an orgy of kisses, reaching out, taking in the American body.
Footnotes
Declaration of Conflicting Interests
The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.