The Wardrobe of Kings (Poem)

This poem was inspired by a book review in the New York Times discussing former FBI director, James Comey’s, recent book about his experiences in government.  It is told, with great artistic license,  from the author’s point of view, not from my own.

Apostle of order,

Knight-errant at law,

I have writ here

My final epistle:

I find you repellant.

I find you unethical,

To all of Earth,

Antithetical.

You clamber the cherry

Tree, picking the facts.

Dissembling is now

The new normal.

Every day I count six

Falsities or mis-leadings

That spew from your

Pursed lips, infernal.

Inspired by a robber

Who held me at gunpoint

In childhood, I soon

Was a squire,

Tasked with keeping the stronger

From maiming the weaker,

I guard independence

With law.

I saw much to appall me,

A show, playing nightly:

The boredom of torture

And capture,

While campaigns were a-waging

And pols were engaging

In duels, such gore

Bringing rapture.

Still, a soldier for Truth,

I squandered my youth

At the Bureau,

The wardrobe of kings.

I shield law from politics,

Fairly try heretics,

Ploddingly,

Wait in the wings,

While you twist and you stretch it—

I can’t help but wretch—I

Recoil at the sight

Of such things.

Still, you speak to your circle,

So silent, assenting,

A mirror, deaf-blind

To all else.

They’re all longing to follow.

Your word is their mantra.

They insist that the rest

Must be false.

And now,

What would you have of me?

Some oath of loyalty?

Kissing the ring

And conspiring?

I despair at your arrogance,

Slouching towards wickedness,

Torches ablaze at

Assizes.

I would gladly, gladly,

Galloping gallantly,

Lop off your crown

For the prizes,

Were it not for the litany

Of my own wickedry:

Was it not I

Who baptized you?

Copyright 2018 Andrea LeDew