Tipton Poetry Journal – Winter 2021
The Coup Michael Salcman When the generals come they will be dressed in suits and ties. They will bear titles like delegate and representative of the people. They will feed the widow and bury the child. Each spring the garden will grow the same apple passing it from tree to tree. The catamount will sing with the strongest, the worker in his mirror, the police in their cars. My tulip poplars will lose their blossoms at the start of Spring. The generals will make peace with our enemies and war with our friends. They will make gods of themselves and slaves of their subjects. They will smile in the afternoon and frown at midnight. They will pass laws for others but not for themselves. They will still look like the sort of Boy Scout who helps an old lady cross a street against her will. They always tell us attendance is voluntary but don’t fail to come to the meetings.
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