We wake up already
in the theater,
where the plays are running
but the last acts are not yet
written.
We've developed great interest
in the main character of one,
a man named George W. Bush.
We've watched his boundless
confidence—brashness? — in action:
first the invasion, then the 'Mission Accomplished'
landing on the aircraft carrier,
then the whole thing falling apart.
But the air of his confidence
continues. Does he know
something we don't?
Does he really hear
the still, small Voice?
And how will it all end for him,
with some kind of whimper,
or a bang that breaks through
even that poker face?
Max Reif
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/george-w-bush-the-play/
