Throughout life, the two
moved in quite different circles.

The first man, dyed, diapered
and drool disoriented for years,
had nurses round the clock,
but yesterday, the old leader passed.
A nation gawks at the casket
in a horse drawn caisson.
Pomp for duty, pomp for celebrity.

The second man, snarl tic faced,
wandered the highway
disoriented for years,
but today, the old bum passed.
A nation turns away from flies
buzzing round the yellow crusted mouth.
Authorities ask aid in finding a name.

Was the difference chance, birthright,
God’s favor?
I am a scientist,
I must know.

So I rob both graves,
cram corpses in beakers,
Bunsen Burn boil them down
to essential elements
(they’re mostly just water).

And what do you know?
All that remains is nearly the same.

07/30/2005

Author's Note: On the occasion of the death of president number 40.

Posted on 07/30/2005
Copyright © 2026 David Hill