The White House Was Quiet and the World Was Calm

The White House was quiet and the world was calm,
the President fussed over a pimple on his chin.

An alien book sat on a nearby table,
it beckoned to be opened but persisted closed.

The words spoke loud and clear but were ignored,
the words told of a war so very far away,

but the summer night was just the right degree
while half a world removed soldiers died hot,

while half a world removed soldiers died cold.
The book did not have to be opened at all,

the world was perfect as it was
except for the pimple on his chin.

The White House was quiet and the world was calm,
he would insist on that tomorrow and tomorrow

when he went before the people of America.
He fled to bed still bothered by the blemish.




Suggested by a post at Andrew’s blog
about a Wallace Stevens poem.