Tuesday, November 01, 2005

George W. Bush is in my closet

Well, really, he is in the back hall of my bookstore, leaning amongst the broken down boxes ready for a trip to the recycling center. And, really, he is kind of flat, wearing some old clothes, looking unusually pale.
My partner was up late last night, spreading papers and cardboard and glue all over the main room carpet, trying to get George W. in shape for a rally/protest/demonstration tomorrow at the courthouse steps of the biggest town nearby. There is something to be said for the joys of political activism. You can develop talents never tapped since kindergarten days. My generally art challenged partner of these couple decades finds he can make posters, and masks, and now, even George.
I kind of wish he hadn't. Or at least hadn't left him leaning, leering, unsteady there in the hallway, about to fall upon the unwary. At least the dogs don't seem to have noticed him yet.
Tomorrow he will be the centerpiece of the topple the regime demonstration. Like Saddam's statue, explains my earnest partner in between wondering where he last put his glasses.
And then the walk will go to the local media places, and to our local representative's office (he's a good guy, but hasn't come out forcefully on Iraq, and the folks will want to talk with him--or his flak catcher--about that).
But meanwhile, there he is. Maybe I should get a good book to put in his flat cardboard hands.


Blogger a dracul said...

you remind me of john the baptist, the way herod antipas viewed the baptizer, so i keep coming back, it's like it's on the edge of reason, but if i try to put it into words, pfft but not so much of the t, i skipped here from my name is diane, now i know how a ghost feels if he tries to live someone else's life, not really, that must feel really odd

11:40 AM, April 20, 2006  

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