by Sparrow
I know it
seems foolish to explain why
I hate Richard M. Nixon, particularly to you, The Lord of
The Universe, but I can be silent no longer.
Nixon dead has become so much worse than Nixon
alive that I must fight him for my
own survival. When I
walked by a flagpole in the West Village--at Abingdon
Square--at halfmast for the dead Richard M. Nixon, I
had, for the first time in my life, the desire to climb
a flagpole and pull the flag back up. I knew this might
require cutting the rope,
but I was willing to risk the mandatory 5 year
sentence for destroying Federal property, just to
diminish Nixon's honor. The moment
passed, regretfully, and has resurfaced
in this poem, which attempts to pull
up the metaphorical half-mast flag of Nixon's post-burial hero-status,
and expose his naked evil, for
Nixon was a Prince of evil.
He was a man, unlike even Mussolini,
who could send hundreds of thousands into death, by bomb,
by fire, by bullet, by truck, without remorse, without even sadness.
His sadness came from other sources, from
some uncle with a big dick, or from the
hidden desire to kiss
Joe McCarthy on his warm, sweaty
hands. "No! No! No!" was written across Nixon's grieving
face, even when he horribly smiled, and he was a man whose
psyche and politics were completely one. He told himself No,
he told us, the People, No, and he told the Vietnamese
No, and I will not forgive him. No, I will
say No to his No,
I will bury him in the ground and dance No!
No! No! over his rotting body, until
the worms eat him and say Yes!,
while I still shout and jump and dance on his grave shouting No
No No Nixon No No No No
Love,
Sparrow