but

This voice may not soar

anywhere near as high

as Obama’s did before he 

realised it would take 

more than hope to

fix America. 

It may not sinfully splash 

unfurled hair over

already scrunched bed linen as an

acoustic-era Leonard Cohen’s

no doubt could. 

It doesn’t hammer out from

the keys, construing

sense and magic 

off the streets through the window 

like a drunken Bukowski’s,

nor does it poetically chase

reason and absurdity 

amidst shadows 

as Camus’ 

through Meursault

in The Outsider,

but