I Hate Shaking Hands - April 1 2024

 

I Hate Shaking Hands

April 1 2024

I watched the politician

wade into crowd,

glad-handing

high-fiving

and tousling the hair

of little kids

who recoiled from his touch.

The big man,

pressing the flesh

and meeting “the people”

in their own backyard;

a tribune of the little man,

sent to the capital

to champion their cause.

Or was he a con man, grifter

shill for the rich,

too slick by half;

filling his pockets

with kickbacks and graft?

Master

of backrooms and phone banks

misleading ads?

I hate shaking hands

crowds

self-aggrandizement.

People like me

don’t get into politics.

We leave it to those who can’t

do anything else

but coddle donors and sell themselves

to seek high office,

decide on policy,

shimmy up the greasy pole.

What we do is watch,

wringing our hands

at mendacity

and incompetence,

the curse of venality

and crutch of incumbency.

Of course, it was a landslide,

and in his speech

he performed humility

promised integrity.

Embraced the long-suffering wife,

who smiled bravely

and stood by his side.

Then winked at his mistress

sitting in the second row

before mingling with the crowd;

the triumphant warrior

and one of their own,

ready to slay the bureaucrats

and deliver the fat

to his loyal entourage,

the home town

he’d never live in anymore.