A Prose Poem
What can we believe anymore and how and why? A fictive mind has been caught in bed with the wife of facts. Each day at 5 p.m. children are marched before the newsroom cameras into the public eye. Can we tell whose child is whose? Which child is legitimate? Which children are genuine lies. Which are the bastard offspring of fiction with fact. A man in red baseball cap smiles. He is very smart. He is glad we are in a dither over truth.