03/30/2025
THE OLD DICTATOR RETURNS
~
The old dictator creaks and clanks off the plane,
gears grinding and pistons scraping under a loose,
secondary skin of bodyguards and doctors.
A riot baton for a cane, he rides the earthquake
of his legs down the red carpeted stairs, flashes a “V”
of open scissors for “Victory”.
His supporters and followers rush forward,
grunting with praise, on legs made of shovels
and spades caked with the earth of shallow graves.
They throw confetti shredded from the latest Constitution,
wave arms of cattle prods, machetes and gun barrels.
They scatter the delicate petals
of severed human ears at his feet.
And the objective Press is there to help fictionalize the event,
barking and drooling and wagging their di*******ry tails,
shaking the bells on their collars, pi***ng themselves
like puppies whining with joy. The old dictator lifts
his Roman profile against the sun and cameras click
like the slamming shut of jail cell doors.
The old dictator is sweetly touched in the tenderest part
of his poison metal heart Tommy-knocking against
the chassis of his chest. He feels that his life’s work
of promoting Business by any means necessary
has been vindicated. “They love me! They really love me!”
he whipcrack whispers to the sky, as he wipes away
a toxic tear that has escaped the prison of his eye.
He blows razor blade kisses to his fans.
“A word, a word!” the crowd urges, overcome
with ecstatic homicide and speaking in patriotic tongues.
The old dictator holds up the rake of his hand and a shot
cracks the future. There are screams and weeping, a visionary
whiff of s**t, and the sun rusts in its orbit. The congregation
applauds with other people’s hands: another brilliant speech!
It is the dawn of yesterday—and just in the nick of time!
The old dictator dips his quill pen into a forehead bullet hole,
signs autographs for the crowd.
He smiles like a wound.
~
--Robert Edwards
~
Originally published in Left of East and in the 2024 Collection, Amazements
