My poem today:
2025 and Nixon rolls over in his grave every night.
He came to a seance to say,
“It was one file cabinet
and a few microphones…”
(Madam Zora knew it was more
but she got the point.)
And he said he wrestled over the injustice
that today the person in his old office
has done so much more and worse
and who now says he doesn’t know whether he is obligated to follow the constitution of the United States
and is getting away with it.
Nixon, having protected himself by vacating the office,
said he had known he was committing crimes
and having had a lot of time to contemplate in his later years in San Clemente,
the ocean lapping on the shore nagging him in quiet moments,
he thought about the oath he took
and how he had flouted it.
“It’s impossible not to know you’re doing something wrong like that.”
His voice echoed
into the ethers
and Madam Zora said no more.
With a quake in the cemetery grounds
the haunting had begun,
floating eastward his spirit went
to settle down like a fog on Washington
slipping into the House and Senate Chambers
to rest upon the shoulders of the culpable
and sully their expensive suits.
Jeanosullivan, May 5, 2025
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