My brother talks of Reagan as a God,
A gleam of sweet nostalgia in his eye,
Of how he brought back confidence and pride
After the moral despair of Vietnam
And I shudder deep inside myself,
Thinking how as President he
Busted unions and outspent the Soviets,
Lifting the Public Debt so high
It will never come down and no one
Hiding in the Bushes seems to care.
I remember meeting Reagan face to face
At a Chancellors' meeting back in ‘69.
I tried to explain what we were upset about,
The students agitating outside
In terror that school funding would be cut
And always the Draft looming overhead
If they if we if I were cut loose,
And as I talked I found myself
Fascinated by his perfect jet black hair
And realized all he said to me in reply
Was uh-huh, uh-huh, excuse me I gotta go.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem