Rumbles of Reagan used to grease the pie pans of my Grandmother’s Mainer home.
“Greatness” projected through tubes, radio-waves, and folded print delivered on Great Hill Road, as the whipping winds sent saltiness landward.
Whispers of wonder would consume the grand old partiers who cast gazes and amazement like fawning school kids typifying and categorizing their peccadillos.
Who will follow in this idol’s foot steps?
Who will chase Soviet Kleptocrats masquerading as Marxists back behind their dying wheat fields?
Who will extract the extractors from our Eastern European brethren’s borders?
Who will portray fiction as science to wack-ah-mole the alleged super weapons from the blank space they declare heaven?
Who will cast shadows and make luminaries rattle partial respect, since deference for a fellow travelers’ beliefs is the weakness of American partiality?
Who is this Bush?
Ah yes, the Navy pilot with St. Anne’s bloodstones who ran the CIA, and dithered in Political Spectacle, but was Pragmatic in intellectual practice.
He’d carry on this torch and burn down Pan-Arabism Baath’ed in Autocracy, strung high on minoritarian empowerment of the feigning and waining sons and daughters of colonial and imperial rule.
Scorched Earth from hell-fire precision.
Blitzkrieg a la Americana.
Oh the tax of running a nation while sauntering around the world projecting Dulles Brothers’ brutality, like dominoes was a game anyone ever wanted to play.
It was these years I would escape screed and Red Sox bleeds for Mother’s Beach to soak up the sun and be vanquished by that Atlantic wash.
Or escape to tide pools on Strawberry Island searching for the youthful creatures of the deep,
Before returning to those blueberry and rhubarb perfections proffered by a real Republican who’s family built this Democratic Republic.
And that’s 87' to 91'…
And we wonder why the American people currently are screaming,
“GET OUT, PLEASE.”
