This one is called "The Summer of the Watergate Hearings."
I didn't write it last summer.
I wrote it, believe it or not, the summer before,
the summer of '73, when the hearings were being televised
every night for the benefit of the working man who couldn't
see them between 9:00 and 5:00.
And so I used to watch them up at the farm on the television.
"The Summer of the Watergate Hearings."
"I wake in New Hampshire.
The sun is still withheld.
For six days, Amanda has stood through drizzles and downpours.
This morning, she steams.
Little pyramids of her droppings surround her.
Dead worms shine in them like forgotten spaghetti,
proof she has eaten the sugarcoated cure.
Four dozen ascarids, 10 strongyles,
I count them to make sure.
And all the while, in Washington, worms
fall out of the government, pale as the parasites
that drain from the scoured gut of my mare.
They blink open on the television screen.
Night after night on the rerun, I count them to make sure."