The Candidate

By Virginia Jasmin Pasalo

 

watch and waltz
dictators or dictators on the mend
saviors promising to kill, to save you
and why should you be afraid?
Didn’t someone assure you
he will not harm you
while he sits near a gun
waiting to smoke, at his will?

 

you will be smoked, like fish
eaten with tomatoes, at breakfast
to show that he can eat fish,
and drink water from the artesian well;
not only a rib eye steak
with cabernet sauvignon
from the Margaret River

 

as the paparazzi watch
he will eat what you eat,
make you feel pretty and treasured
embrace the old, hungry for touch
kiss the babies, clueless about kisses
and you, you will get a warm, long kiss,
because, he knows you are longing for a kiss,
and that is enough, that you have the rare chance
to feel your skin, against his skin
the radiant existence of your Master
mistaking his blessed life to extend,
and replace the wretchedness of your own

 

by nightfall, all that display of caring
will be washed away with special soaps
meant to erase the smell,
the scent of the poor
back to his affluence and depravity
in the embrace of soft hands
and wild perfumes

 

back in your little room, a dream rises
in the debris of your mind
among the spirit of dead trees
you travel in the highway of the dead
to a palace restored, to its ruins,
along the gulf of dead corals.

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