Paul Irving Precedes Me
Life is one grand
procession someone has
no doubt noted, a parade, the
Second
Line, brass and mourners
weave winding streets, wails
drowned out by grace notes
and wild whoops of joy,
an appealing image, though
truth be told
I prefer metaphor with
a bit less
pizazz, something a little
more buttoned
down, the protocol
clear. As I make my
way I wish to be preceded
by Paul
Irving, a stern, eagle
beaked fellow, the
new House-Sergeant-At-Arms,
a man given
to regular habits, a guy
who knows
exactly where we’re headed
and how we
will get there. Paul can be relied on to
part the waters ahead, the
flood of well-
wishers with which I have
to contend each
and every day, dragging me
by my
lapels, bald head
pivoting, eyes steely,
scanning the room for
trouble, alert to
roadblocks, anyone bent on
delay, keen
to deliver me to my last address.
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