SHE'S MY LOBBYIST

In my time of need, she is there
in her power black polka dot skirt
and spartan high heels.

As the middle class folds in on itself
she's at the table with the gorgons
of several mirror manufacturers.

Then, she's flossing her rhetoric
at the no-taxes conference, rereading yore-orators
un-contextualizing Jeffersonian snippets.

Later, much later, she's up early to file motions
and throng the halls with snide press releases
that put people on high, color-coded alert.

She's dancing on tables with the daughters
of the losers of the Revolution, and battleshipping
lines with them in chic, metallic powder rooms.

She's fashioning cyanide bullets
for Albanians with pizzerias on the Concourse.

She's interpolating the fluoride in toothpaste
with radiator fluid, and selling it in dollar stores.

My lobbyist is throwing performance artists
into endless interrogation holes for questioning
the auguries of The Filter Politburo.

She's fundraising with Christian mercenaries.
She's toppling welfare caliphates.
She's fasting with Shiite and Sunni heroin herders.