
{Today, news is breaking about the President’s tax records, which have, through considerable effort, been kept from the public, for an entire term.Â
These documents may hold surprises, for some voters. They may confirm the suspicions of others. And they may be completely disregarded by others, as irrelevant propaganda. People see what they want to see.
The publication of a candidate’s tax records was once a standard pre-election expectation and an unwritten requirement. But this administration has most adroitly side-stepped making these documents public knowledge. Until now.
Of course, burying the unsavory elements of one’s past is not a tendency singular to just one man. It is shared by us all.
This photo of a car’s dashboard reminds us how unscrupulous dealers sometimes manipulate odometer readings, to trick unwary customers into thinking, that a car is more valuable than it really is.
Frequently practiced by those in positions of power, revisionist history also revises past facts, to suit present purposes.
Time brings about many changes, in our bodies, our position and our reputation.Â
This poem asks, whether history and facts should be changeable, as well. Â
Thanks for coming by to read.}
From clear, to nothing but freckles;
From birthing cry to dying breath;
To cheers, from nothing but heckles;
From slumlord’s son to president.
We change, though no judge is rating.
Each second etches our brow anew.
We morph, from salesmen to statesmen,
Make blank the slate, to inscribe the new.
What harm could come, from remembering?
An honest man repents his past.
But some prefer dissembling,
Rewriting the acts, they mean to outlast.
Copyright 2020 Andrea LeDew
Read more in the series Sixty Days. If you, like me, are craving some stability in your life, instead of this whirlwind of uncertainty, try A Break From Routine.
Revisionist history has been going on for a long time, particularly in the political arena. It’s just hard for the revisions to stay hidden nowadays.
Very true.
I don’t know about the man in question, but it’s possible to be both a builder and a slum lord. There are plenty of unethical builders.
Buyer beware!!
Andrea I don’t think his dad was a slum lord. He was a builder. My dad used to sell lemonade to his builders in Brooklyn when he was a kid.
Forgive my unkind exaggeration in the pursuit of a good line. None of this is meant to be hard fact or reportage.
Thats so cool about your dad! Was it at a lemonade stand as a kid, or at a counter service place?
Your dad was a wonderful man.