Camelot & The Greek Widow

I love you, Jack,
she said &
I believed
she believed it.
Why shouldn't I?
The Cold War
was always on the hot plate
Jack, wasn't it?
You were our
noble warrior
reading
your Ian Fleming.
We'd seen the sites
in Cuba---
waiting on missiles
& on your spies
& we'd seen the peasant's boot
come down
hammer & sickle
thumping the U.N.'s
furniture.
You would go anywhere
Jack, you would pay any price---
the price that was
too dear
even for your dynasty.
It's a pity
you didn't live long enough
to lose the war
to bomb them
to not bomb them
back into the Stone Age.
Years later
in the documentaries
the C.I.A. & the F.B.I. & the Mafia
& the odd schizoid crack shot
all conspired or competed
& paid their price
for you, Jack,
but the American Way

returned to
Peace with Honor
& like all other
lessons of politics
reeled off into history
to be forgotten
for Hallowe'en
& a troupe of
marching girls.
Because
we're a bit slow
down here Down Under
I didn't hear
about the film stars
of your domestic policy
on those White House
sofas & afternoons
& your off the record
press briefings
press boastings
on how many
of them
until long after
I wasn't
supposed to be
impressed
or envious
& they're still catting
over you---those
who haven't
overdosed.
I was still
a schoolboy
Jack
but
I loved you
we all loved you then---
competing in debates to prove
just how much we
loved you.

Jacqueline
probably loved you too
Jack, at least the assassin
brought out the
best in her.
I wish
I'd known then
as much as she knew
on that particular
November day
in Dallas.