The Last Match

You can give me the world's last match,
and I'll strike it for you, keep it lit
long enough to light democracy's torch,
or whatever blown out torch you carry,
not that I care that much for planetary fires,
but I've smoked a sun full of cigarettes,
and I can light a match in a hurricane.

I know of others like me,
soldiers, quite serious people,
who make fire for the incompetent,
but you'll give that stick 
to a politician,
and you'll get what you deserve,
the phosphorus wet with perspiration;
at best, the lighting match held head up,
the momentary flame, then a wisp of smoke in history,
the spent head nodding down like a napping president.



(1985)