should have kept
it in his pants;
sure, Ms B,
wife, mom
biographer,
should have
maintained
journalistic distance,
but these things
happen.
What is
unbelievable,
to me,
is how a man,
whose job it is
to snoop
and oversee
snooping,
would communicate
to his lover
via email.
They
could have
at least
used code.
Now
a valiant general
is reduced
to Newt Gingrich-like
fodder for comics.
No more sex
with his biographer,
one points out,
now he'll only
have sex
with his
autobiographer.
Even people
like me,
who shouldn't be
allowed to breathe
the same air
as General P,
wonders aloud
if he slept
nude with Ms B
or kept
his purple heart on.
The mighty fall
just as the small,
only with
a louder
thud.
I find this
reassuring.
Still,
emails General P?
Really?
Wayne Scheer has locked himself in a room with his computer and turtle since his retirement. (Wayne's, not the turtle's.) To keep from going back to work, he's published hundreds of short stories, essays and poems, including Revealing Moments, a collection of flash stories. He's been nominated for four Pushcart Prizes and a Best of the Net. Wayne lives in Atlanta with his wife and can be contacted at wvscheer(at)aol.com.
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