Hillary, if desire equated to competence,
you'd sit at the right hand of the Father.
If yearning were the formula,
you'd cure the atom bomb.

The shrewd ambiguities --
the "mist peak" --
the vague side of the valley.
To live in the murk
of our languages failures,
a candidate minus the "candid" bit.

Supporters forgive citing business as usual
unwilling to purchase the fact
that just because failings have governed their lifetimes
does not mean we can't take it back.
And so
you've been gifted a mandate.
A permanently winking eye and nudging elbow,
a voice spayed of substance,
of guilt, of blame,
of truth, of shame.
Lying means little when cast as a symbol,
A relic of old guard nostalgia.

To me, you're the cat I often walk past
on my way to the Korean drug store.
It's gold and inscripted and waves
as though gifted with endless
reserves for campaigning.
I heard it took a slug to the spine
on a USO tour and retired
to tasks more forgiving.
When asked of it, it smiles
and waves and never complains,
thus its actions take on weighted meanings.

I reckon that's where you and it differ.