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THE PRESIDENT POETIn 1981, Barack Obama published two poems in the journal �Feast�. The first poem, �Pop�, was for his grandfather: POP Sitting in his seat, a seat broad and broken In, sprinkled with ashes Pop switches channels, takes another Shot of Seagrams, neat, and asks What to do with me, a green young man Who fails to consider the Flim and flam of the world, since Things have been easy for me; I stare hard at his face, a stare That deflects off his brow; I�m sure he�s unaware of his Dark, watery eyes, that Glance in different directions, And his slow, unwelcome twitches, Fail to pass. I listen, nod, Listen, open, till I cling to his pale, Beige T-shirt, yelling, Yelling in his ears, that hang With heavy lobes, but he�s still telling His joke, so I ask why He�s so unhappy, to which he replies... But I don�t care anymore, cause He took too damn long, and from Under my seat, I pull out the Mirror I�ve been saving; I�m laughing, Laughing loud, the blood rushing from his face To mine, as he grows small, A spot in my brain, something That may be squeezed out, like a Watermelon seed between Two fingers. Pop takes another shot, neat, Points out the same amber Stain on his shorts that I�ve got on mine, and Makes me smell his smell, coming From me; he switches channels, recites an old poem He wrote before his mother died, Stands, shouts, and asks For a hug, as I shrink, my Arms barely reaching around His thick, oily neck, and his broad back; �cause I see my face, framed within Pop�s black-framed glasses And know he�s laughing too. Barack Obama Underground Under water grottos, caverns Filled with apes That eat figs. Stepping on the figs That the apes Eat, they crunch. The apes howl, bare Their fangs, dance, Tumble in the Rushing water, Musty, wet pelts Glistening in the blue. Barack Obama |
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