“We boiled down the lies in another pan till they disappeared. / We washed that pan.”

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(poetry diary 181 -2/17/17.) Watching re-caps of yesterday’s press conference and having a nice, gentle fantasy about feeding the President & his administration serum of the sort that Nye writes about.  A calming poem. 

Truth Serum
Naomi Shihab Nye 
We made it from the ground-up corn in the old back pasture.
Pinched a scent of night jasmine billowing off the fence,
popped it right in.
That frog song wanting nothing but echo?
We used that.

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