1 minute read
The Politician's Butler
By Brooke MacDonald
A demented class suppression tactic
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Beckoned votes in the center of the round table.
Papers thrown haphazardly, balled, folded into paper airplanes
Making perfect
landings on the runway of classified documents. Someone spills
their coffee: two
creams, a sugar,
The finest brew from coffee beans originating somewhere foreign.
The cup was made locally—so it’s okay.
Big-bellied laughs echo from the roof of the spherical structure,
Brought on by the summoning of the butler, a layman,
Who now cleans the coffee off of the man’s tie.
He pats delicately, like a flower—he must like him.
Naw, he just wants you to be his sugar daddy.
The butler leaves, a paper airplane crashes and burns on the back of his tight vest—
He doesn’t turn around.
