A VIEW OF THE CONRAD HILTON
FROM THE WABASH YMCA

March 15, 1974 2:00 a.m.

The President is down the street
wrapped in security;
gray trenchcoats crowd the walks
and guard his car
(an all night vigil by the limousine;
beneath cold lights, hot coffee,
like a wake).

He may sleep well
so snugly blanketed,
and he really should be locked away
in his safe accommodations—
not lodged with the people
like an old complaint.

The President is off the streets
and tucked away,
although the blanket shows
he feels a chill.
The Imperial Suite can surely tell
the wind is rising
to seek and find him out
beneath his cover.

But till that time,
he toughs it out—
high-shouldered Puritan
(though hemorrhoids twitch)—
and butts his nose
against the Ides of March.

Copyright © Robert D. Sutherland, 1974
[published in The Post-Amerikan, 1974]