Poem to The New York Times

Saturday, April 21, 2018

I want to believe everything

The New York Times tells me

Because, well, it is The New York Times

I feel the way the ancient Jews felt

Lost without their sacred text

To tell me what to believe

And what not to believe,

Or how I should feel or not

This breath I breathe

Edited to fid with some

Copy editor’s conception of reality

If it’s not fit to print,

It can’t be real.

I want to believe everything

The sacred Washington Post claims as truth

They brought down Nixon after all

So, they must be important

This lust for power

Leaving them with blood

Not ink on their fingers,

Like Lady Macbeth,

Driven mad by their own

Lust for greatness

I want to believe everything

I hear on PBS

Less stressed they paint my world

In painful color I cannot

Even contemplate for myself,

Newscasters hired for their smooth voices

And their liberal ideal

Like the snake oil salesmen

My plagued my grandmother

Forcing my grandfather to drive off

With a shotgun full of buck shot

I want to believe everything

Every talking head on TV tells me

Because they have press passes

To get the news straight from the source,

Those noble knights on a crusade

To save this holy land we live in

In the name of some new religion

That has no god

Pretending their want to keep the faith

When it’s the trade routes they fight for

Coin changers on the steps of the temple

Selling trinkets to us instead of truth.