An Interview with the Caudillo

The old dictator gently laughed.
He raised his hands and gestured at
The room around them. Then, he
He asked her, “See all this, this gilded
Prison? Do you think I'm powerful,
That one word from me means
Continued life, or death, for anyone?
Perhaps it does,” He laughed again,
“But, mostly, I am but a piece of trash
Atop a tidal wave. I do not lead. I'm
Pushed along by currents: what
The army wants, the corporate leaders,
Bishops, people running shops on filthy
Streets, and farmers, all of them with
Outstretched hands, demanding more
From me, and less for others. That,
Of course, cannot be done. Their
Forces simply cancel out, and life
Continues without changing. You're
A lovely woman, young enough
To still be starry-eyed, and I, though
Worn along the edges, still succumb
To flattery, so, yes, portray me as
A tyrant, ruling with an iron fist,
But know that, should I take to heart
These traits which you ascribe to me,
I'd sink beneath the tidal wave
And quickly be replaced.”



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2021-06-01 at 17:15

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