I.
Watching the snow melt
Watching white turn to nothing
Waiting to read the Mueller report.
Will it reveal all of our country’s bare spots
Or, like reversed, redacted poetry,
The blackened the most poignant.
The Washington DC blossoms
Vernal sun heating the reflection pool
Grey water torrents into the sewers
Which further soften the tender earthen skin
Under a worm moon.
Looking up to the spring sky
Where the planes still crawl like
Ants nearly beyond the blue
It’s easy to worry that
Planes could unexpectedly plummet
Failing like prey to the hackers
Or the indelicately programmed
On auto pilot.
Seems we’re still hand crafted
Unlike the spring which needs no
Commands to utter naked truths.
II.
Watching everything turn to black
Two years of reports delivered to a sorcerer
Who stirs a cauldron of ink
The influencers in a cigar bar
The meetings in the Tower
The leaks of no consequence
Op drops buried in a forest of darkness
Because an appointee concludes
That evidence which denudes
Can’t establish criminal intent.
A black box filled with content
Worthy of scrutiny like a fallen plane
The failure to heed it, a formula
By which Democracy itself is obstructed.
READ MORE
“This is spy hunting”: Inside the dark heart of the Mueller report [Vanity Fair]
Why Barr’s delay in releasing the Mueller report is unprecedented and unreasonable [Fortune]
Michel Krug is a poet, fiction writer, former print journalist, Johns Hopkins Writing Seminars graduate and Loft Literary Center member from Minnesota. He also litigates. His poems have appeared in Door Is A Jar, Raven’s Perch, Tuck Magazine, Poetry24, 2 Elizabeths, Main Street Rag, the Brooklyn Review and other literary magazines.
