Be Well

 

Now is not a time for satire, with our president in the hospital and infected with coronavirus.

I’m sure I am not alone in wishing the President a speedy recovery.  Him, and the other 7 million or so in our country who have contracted this illness.

But I am probably also not alone in worrying, that his infection might somehow gain him an edge in the upcoming election.

Stranger things have happened.  There have been many October Surprises in past elections, that have swayed voters away from their previously poll-predicted behavior.  Hillary Clinton’s 2016 emails for one.

As they say, it is a sign of intelligence to entertain two conflicting ideas in ones head, at the same time.  You can mourn the injury of the other side’s quarterback, while still rooting for your home team.

So  I have tried my best to display this ambivalence in the following poem, using a little wordplay.

I hope it will not seem too crass, and that it will not seem to negate my very sincere wish that our President continue to live a long and happy life well beyond both his infection and the election.

I would just prefer that he lived it elsewhere.  Not in the White House, that is.

The capitalization is purposeful, since I use the imagery of the “Slough of Despond” from John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress (1678, when they still tended to capitalize nouns).  Pilgrim’s Progress is a religious allegory, which follows young “Christian” as he travels toward Heaven, and one of his last challenges is the Slough, or bog, in which his sins weigh him down.  At the other side is the Narrow Gate, through which he can pass to Salvation.

How did I come to think of the Slough at this moment?

Recently a man was asked by a reporter what he thought about the President’s illness, and he only had one word to say, uttered in disgust: “2020!”

During this insane year, the President  acquiring this illness–pretty much the worst possible thing that could happen– seems par for the course( to use an idiom from one of his favorite pursuits.) What else do you expect, in a year containing more collective misery that any in modern memory?

I also use the word “pray” in its old sense, as in, please, grant me something.  Although praying would not be out of order, right now.

I also could not help but think of Jesus in the desert, where Satan is tempting him and he says “Get behind me, Satan!” (Luke 4:8).  Jesus uses the same phrase when rebuking Peter, when Peter tries to sway him from following the path ordained by God that led Him to His crucifixion (and resurrection)(Matthew 16:23.)    Many of us would definitely choose to leave this year and all it contained, including our leader, behind us and start anew.

Let us all hope, for his sake and for the sake of his family and our country, that the President’s course with the illness is short and mild and that he suffers no lasting ill effects. Same goes for all those around him and elsewhere, who may have contracted this malady, through whatever means. And my sympathies, for those, for whom the outcome of having this disease has been worse.

Thanks for coming by to read!

 

Pray, that you

May soon be well,

Soon be healthy

(Time will tell.)

Pray, we hear

No tolling bell,

That rings at

Half-past three.

 

Stay well

Away from me.

 

Pray, that you

Stay well away,

Well away, from

All that’s right;

Well away, from Day,

In Night;

Far from

Popularity,

 

And well

Away from me.

 

Pray that those

Whom Pity soothes,

Whom Pity calms,

Whose Pity smooths

Out all the wrinkles,

And the grooves:

Oh, Pray that they

May see!

 

Stay well

Away from me.

 

Pray, that while

The Nation mourns,

The Nation, tattered,

Nation, torn,

It still reviles

What earns its scorn,

And throws

away the key!

 

Stay well

Away from me.

 

Pray, that we

See through this fog,

Pass through this mist,

Wade through this bog,

And reach the Shore

Much less Despondent,

Saved at last,

And Free!

 

And well

Away from Thee.

 

Copyright 2020 Andrea LeDew

 

 

For the rest of the posts in my series leading up to the 2020 election see Sixty Days. 

For a poem that talks about writing and the importance of words, see A Word.