70spoems/JohnD

ROCKEFELLER IN BLACK AND WHITE

In a straw hat with a shiny
silk ribbon, let’s say red,
more shriveled than a Sioux
at a hundred and twelve,
skin hanging like threadbare cloth,
less vital than the work
of a jungle head dryer.
In another culture he would
have been buried alive.

I see the children dressing him up,
wiping the drool from his chin.
John D., it has come to this,
in a double-breasted suit
with matching vest and
diamond stick pin.