A/N: This is about one Sunday in October...Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld gave a press briefing, and for the oddest of reasons he reassured me. I think that the poem is sort of self-explanatory, but I just wanted to give some background ^-^

Watching Secy. Of Defense Donald Rumsfeld Give A Press Briefing

When one Sunday came
In late fall, and our
New Room was still an
Enclosed shell of a Thing,
And it feels as if it
Was an entirely different
Time, tho' really only
Weeks--
Suddenly weeks add
On to each other, only this is
Not about weeks or days,
But about a certain
Sunday.
We were still shaken
Tho' we are now, but we have
Always been those who
Take days and take strides
To make them more than days--
Which should say a lot of us, but in
Late fall, fires still smoked,
And we still looked out of
Ashy eyes, silent in a
Protracted moment
Suddenly, tho' there was a
Flurry of instantly irritating
Snow-flashes, and that dissuaded me from
Journalism for a time, but not from
Belief--
A stunning suited man--and
Official-- dealing with circling
Flies, yet--
I felt no lack
Of concern on his
Part--more so even

I suppose we should refrain
From trusting politicians, it is
Bred into us, but it was also
Bred into us, to assume steel
Will test logic--arrogance gives
Us an immunity, and the World
Changes.

We know that now.

But one part of time, one past
Sunday, I found to trust a man
In a gray suit, to--if not
Reform steel--then to defend
Its arrogance.
Those journalists--well
Tho' I always dreamed of being
As them, I would rather be as I was--
Sitting in a half-completed House
And suddenly finding solace in an honest
-or otherwise-
Politician
Wearing a suit of steel gray