The Sunday Poem: Gary Brower... Shooting With Dick Near Corpus Christi

Dick Cheney continues to insert himself into the current political debate. Poet Gary L. Brower has the former VP in his metaphoric sights as he focuses on a very real hunting trip. The Incident occurred on February 11, 2006, when then U.S. Vice President Dick Cheney shot Harry Whittington, a 78-year-old Texas attorney, while participating in a quail hunt. Both Cheney and Whittington called the incident an accident.

Gary Brower is one of the directors of the Duende Poetry Series of Placitas. He has published multiple books in both English and Spanish. Brower has read widely with guitarist El Nino David & dancer Susannah Garrett at such venues as the National Hispanic Cultural Center in Albuquerque and the Church of Beethoven.


SHOOTING WITH DICK NEAR CORPUS CHRISTI

“...hunting only serves to madden
the heart of Man, thus revealing the
enemy is within...”—Lao-Tse

“The figure of the accursed hunter
is one found in many mythologies.”
J.E. Cirlot, DICTIONARY OF SYMBOLS



Dick always shoots from the head,
he says, but Dick, head of the hunting party,
often shoots from the lip when pissed,
shoots from the hip too
with his expensive, Italian Perazzi shotgun,
when overdrunk with power,
clean and sober only when news gets out
of his battle with human quail,
reenacting shoot-outs from Iraq,
except it’s a case of friendly fire
with the hunting party that couldn’t shoot straight,
looking to their friends on the Right,
vultures looking for prey, then shooting to the Left
at anything that moves.
Dick, head of the hunting party,
said: “I’m the guy that
pulled the trigger; it was one
of the worst days of my life.”
Now you know how we feel
and our worst day has
lasted for years, since
the people of Florida
pulled the trigger
on their voting machines
and elected you and
the other vote poacher
by a count of 5 to 4
out of millions of votes cast.
Dick, head of the hunting party,
is always on the hunt,
for more of something, anything, everything,
greedy for more greed, can’t find enough prey
even after amassing mounds of defenseless victims.
Dick, head of the hunting cabal,
turned to shoot a covey
of Mohammed al-quail,
Achmed al-quail,
Osama bin quail,
that suddenly morphed into
a crony quail who didn’t duck,
like a nightmare war flashback
Dick never had
because of his five
military deferments,
“had better things to do”
he said at the time,
as you may remember
in your flashback nightmare
of Dick, head of the predator flock.
This was Dick’s kind of war,
all his ducks in a row, hunters hunting hunters,
a civil war among uncivil predators,
except for the colorless crony
in the orange vest that color couldn’t help.
Accidents will happen to the defenseless
who are expected targets of an arrogant posse
or even to a surprised member
of the competitive hunting clique
who becomes the accidental sacrifice
to Dick’s war games in the combat he never had,
his philosophy of survival of the greediest,
the fun of hitting a target, exercise of momentary power,
explosion of impotent sexual energy
while surrounded by bitchy rich women
on their 50,000-acre ranch-nation,
so near yet so far from Corpus Christi,
who appear at a press conference
to lie, saying “Everyone drank Dr. Pepper, no alcohol,”
and now you see you were a crony electorate with orange vest
the predators claimed voted them into power,
need to confront the fact that you don’t know Dick,
don’t know what kind of Viagra power he had to have
to manipulate the Presidential puppet, when not shooting
fish in a barrel, birds in a bathtub, cronies in the bush.

--Gary L. Brower


Poetry submissions are welcome. Email theditchrider@gmail.com. The whole Sunday Poem series is available from the front page of the DCF by clicking on The DitchRider in the left-hand sidebar. Poems early in the series are archived under "previous post" at the bottom of The DitchRider blog.

Views: 40

Tags: Brower, Poetry

Comment by Margaret Randall on January 3, 2010 at 8:04am
Gary, so glad to see this poem this morning! Your prolific pen never ceases to amaze me. This strong piece is proof positive that politics makes great poetic matter... like anything else. Thank you.
Comment by Ben Moffett on January 3, 2010 at 9:39am
This is a wonderful poem, and hopefully it will live as long as there is an America. Perhaps it should have a sequel or an epilogue, documenting George W. Bush's ill-fated dove hunt with Ann Richards during the Texas governor's race in which the future president also made a colossal mistake. No,he didn't shoot Richards. But he did bag a killdeer, revealing that he doesn't know his birds at all. The shot was taken in full view of the media, and the future governor/president hastily agreed to pay a fine of $125 for killing a federally protected species. Somehow the event was not much publicized.
Comment by cc on January 3, 2010 at 12:22pm
Love your playful, crafty attention, Gary, so many important anecdotes documenting Cheney's devious behavior.

@Ben - so glad to know about this W incident with endangered Killdeer!
Comment by Barelas Babe on January 3, 2010 at 12:44pm
Accidents will happen to the defenseless
who are expected targets of an arrogant posse

Such a zinger to the heart! The rhythm of your poem does such justice to the anger and the audacity - thank you for such powerful words this fine Sunday morning.
Comment by David Cramer on January 4, 2010 at 5:44am
A wonderful poem, Gary, delivered with directness and honesty. Your words stand strong against those who abuse their power.
Comment by Granjero on January 4, 2010 at 10:37am
This poem reminded me of the Carlisle and Indian School residential area for some reason... can't quite put a finger on it.

Lets face it though.. who hasn't shot someone accidentally when hunting in Texas? I know I have......
Comment by Lauren on January 4, 2010 at 6:40pm
For an encore, I suggest writing about Teddy Kennedy getting licquored up and driving his girlfriend off a bridge, killing her and sitting in the Senate for 40 yrs instead of sitting in jail. Oh wait....stuff like that happens all the time, doesn't it.

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