The dream
All white boys want to be president.
Short stop first.
Fighter pilot first.
Fireman first.
Cross-dressing go-go dancer first.
Then president.
Years after their dreams come true,
all white boys who are president
look like peppers we forgot in the crisper.
Cop first.
Cancer survivor first.
Then president.
I watch #43 on TV.
I am a white boy.
I can lie — I love tapioca —
I can be sincere — I really really love
tapioca.
I went to college and majored
in the Windsor knot.
All white boys want to be president.
Clouds first.
Snow first.
Paper first, whole novels
cleansed of text, of little black marks
that irritate the eye.
Then semen.
Then sea-foam.
Then rice in the hair of the bride
as she leans back and takes it.
Then president.
– bob hicok