So there’s this guy who got this job that requires a lot of talking and taking of questions,
a guy who just got bored of talking and tired of taking questions,
which would be OK – one expects a bit of piss and strut, progress being slow, of course,
if you believe in that sort of thing – footed fishes and monkeys and such – it would be OK,
getting bored, I mean, with the responsibility of deliberation,
Unless you’re King of the Gol-Dam City on the Hill Which Shines its Light Like a
Freakin’ Beacon to the Rest of the World, which mainly speaks English but also
Whatever Else Other Jabber Gets Spoken,
Unless, as King of the Hill, see, you just feel you don’t need to explain why you say what you say
or do what you do because -
Because why? Because that’s the interesting thing about being King – you don’t need to
say much when your blocks get knocked down and your beautiful towers lay
about your feet For All The World To See, over and over again, at 5, 6, and 11,
for all the world to see.
Look at that shit (the people kept saying), just look at it. So you punch that
bully in the nose and say, “Let there be blood.”
But then, you see, here’s the rub. He kept on punching and punching (as angry people
sometimes do) and there was nobody around big enough to grab a’hold of him,
the King, from behind I mean, to pull him off, to hold him until he cried, saying
shush now – it’s OK, it’s OK,
But it wasn’t OK because them A-rabs see, them A-rabs they hate God and they hate Us
cause we love God and they envy us our Happy Meals, our Freedom Fries our
Monster Burgers, our bottomless Big Gulps and our big fat asses which we have a
Gol-Dam RIGHT to grow, and that,
That is what they hate, yes THEY, them A-rabs in Afghana-Wherever and Iraq-a-Ran, and
don’t worry if I get my Stans mixed up, you know, because though “I rarely read
the stories, I get briefed by people who are probably read in the news
And it’s just not fair, all this talk, all these questions … about WMD, and Niger, and
that miss Flame lady, because there’s something called HONOR.
When your blocks get knocked down, see, you just don’t stand there, ’cause, you know,
I’m from Texas, and in Texas you jerk up yer jeans by yer beltloops so
everybody can see the size of your gun and, besides, what else is a man supposed
Sit around and read French poetry by some drunk poet named Bode-lare who’s always
talking about being drunk all the time, which is a sin? No sir. It ain’t easy being
the leader of the free world.
You’ve got to, like, do stuff.
Somebody knocks your blocks down, see, somebody knocks your blocks down,
well, you kick ass,
Take names later.
You don’t just sit around, admiring pumpkins. Piss on that.
Did I tell you I’m from Texas?
Bill King is a Professor of English at Davis & Elkins College in Elkins, WV, where he lives with his wife Beth, son Walter, and daughter Elizabeth. He enjoys teaching creative writing, literary criticism, and American Literature, and is a volunteer for the Randolph County Democratic Headquarters and the Randolph County Community Arts Center.