Generous, it was, for both sides to allow their puppets

to occasionally don mufti.

But all I could see was the suits.

The heads above the suits mattered little to me.

It was the wrapping on the sandwich,

not the meat filling it, that

got my attention every time.


So, wheat bread, white bread,

pita or tortilla, it's all

bread to me,

and whether the lettuce is fresh,

or the mayonnaise homemade,

it's still a sandwich

stuffed between bread.


I think the world would

be better served

if the would-be

or is-be emperor

stood naked before us

and then, maybe the wrinkles

or the shrivels

might come closer

to intimating a truth.

Until then,

the suits are all I see,

all I hear,

all I smell...

and all the dry-cleaning

fluid in the world

cannot remove the stench

of a poorly-wrapped

conscience.