The Fabric of Democracy: A Sestina
Let’s plan for when the sensible are king:
No one would ever hurl harpoons at whales,
Affairs of state apart from men of cloth,
No sketchy tunnels underneath the Channel.
We’d root for justice as the party line.
On Tuesday last, we roared like lions,
Alarming even a confusèd king
Who startled on his gated tuft
As courtiers began to wail:
“They clearly skirted all the proper channels!
Left us the crusty dishes, took the tablecloth!”
It’s nothing new: The emperor’s got no clothes.
While others studied history, he was doing lines,
Avoiding sticky situations through his handy channels.
’Tis true, some shady men are chosen king.
But let our schools of fish be canny as a whale,
Our defense in numbers—strong, unbroken lines.
Not all who think straight can be really tough—
Canvas can quickly turn to mere cheesecloth,
Suddenly nobody’s manning the gunwales;
We clutch for certain comfort like our comrade Linus,
Whatever keeps away the raw—
Dreaming fiercely how to change the channel.
Perhaps our leader will be in Chanel,
Or captain of an ice cream truck.
He may be grilling now at Burger King.
To cut the cord, we’ll need some noble clothes:
All those in this room know in their loins—
It will require something with a whale.
So till ’08 we would do well
To keep our oars straight in the channel,
Draw new lines and color in the lines,
And keep the mud off of our cuffs,
By flying the flag of a singular cloth:
The straight and narrow known as corduroy.
These lines are minnows to a whale—
The King would toss them in the Channel.
But we’ll prevail. We have the winning cloth.
- Emily Gordon