by Ted Kooser

We all watched as the President awkwardly carried
a big wreath to the Grave of the Unknown Soldier,
a ring of a thousand keys that he held out before him
in both manicured hands, knowing that somewhere
among them was the key to the love of the people
for which he’d been searching for weeks. Now he was
setting the keys aside, presuming that it would be seen
as a grand and magnanimous gesture, though all of u
knew he was just giving up on one more faulty pla
to capture our adoration, and he leaned the heavy ring
against the indifferent face of the stone and backed away
nodding and nodding and nodding, almost as if he were
looking around on the ground for the next possibility.