[Newspoetry] poem

[Anne Bargar]

Last week, the president dreamed that he was a friend of the poor.  

In the dream someone with a gun handed him a sewing machine, saying
"Here's how you escape poverty.  Hunch over this thing for twelve hours a
day."  So the president did, happily sewing away.  And after a week, he
found that he had enough money to buy off both the sewing machine and it's
board of directors (because the only legitimate voice is one you can buy
off).    He also had a stiff back.  So the president went walking down the
street, looking at all of the closed shops and the few that were still
open.  He didn't see anything that he recognized.   "Oh well," he thought,
"it won't take me long to get out of here."  He continued walking through
neighborhoods of boarded-up houses and overcrowded trailers, occasionally
passing someone who would not look him in the eye.
	
He stumbled onto a large crowd of people in the middle of an intersection.
Everyone turned to face him, wanting to see who the newcomer was.  They
all started jeering, "Hey asshole, where's my tax reform?"  He backed
away, looking around wildly for either a speechwriter or Ari Fliescher.
Finding neither, he smiled broadly to hide his nervousness and started to
explain that if they made less than $25,000 a year, they didn't qualify
for tax relief under the new bill.  However, he went on to say, the rich
would be given incentives to invest in business, and that would provide
job opportunities and-

Around him the crowd yelled "Fuck that shit!"  Everyone started pelting
him with USDA commodity food.  "ARRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!" he yelled,
looking for a place to run to.  He finally found an open office and ran
inside.  He found two social workers inside taking a break.  "Help!" he
whined, canned pork dripping from his shoulders as applesauce poured from
his shoes.  Cheese stuck to the back of his head.
	"Can you tell me what's going on?" one of them asked.
	"They're throwing food at me!  It's all rotten and slimy!" he
whined.
	"Can you tell us why this happened?" the other one asked.
	"I started talking about tax reform and the started yelling and
throwing stuff."
	"You were talking about your tax reform package, and they started
throwing food at you," they reiterated.
	"Yeah."
	"Could it be because you left them out of your tax reform
package?" one asked.
	"Well, I don't know"
	"You need to be willing to look at your own behavior if you're
going to solve any conflict, George.  You publicly announced that you were
a friend of the poor, but then you turned your back on them,'" the other
one said.
	"But-" he whined.
	"In fact, you never actually turned around to face them, did you?
See, before you can just blame the other party, you need to take a good
look at your own behavior.  I mean, you left a lot of people, including
us, out of that bill." the first one said.
	"You need to look at your own part of any conflict before blaming
other people," the second one reiterated.

	The president awoke in a cold sweat, the voices of the social
workers still in his head.  "Its just a dream, just a dream."  He searched
desperately for the remote control.  "Gotta get it out of my head," he
muttered, flipping through the channels. But all he could find on every
channel was coverage and analysis of the G8 summit.  "Shit!" he yelled,
grabbing the phone and hurling it through the TV.  Sparks flew as the
screen shattered and went dark.  "Dammit.  I guess I'll have to ask Mr.
Cheney for another one tomorrow," he mumbled, staring into the darkness.