For My Nephew Chris, an Idealist
(copyright 2000)

The Politics of Faith (a.k.a. fighting over thirty pieces of silver)

Kindness in speech is no kindness in deed. But who=s gonna notice? Especially when a few good words are punctuated by Promise and Hope.

The cynical, too, are adored. A dose of Mencken, a splash of Hobbes, and pure genius. Invite them in! (No one notices the cold air drafting through the cracked door). They=ll find lead in that old house, dammit, then we=ll rally the mob!

Stark in dress, naked of metaphor, and left alone to warm cold hands at the fire of a burning compact, the old of heart wait outside.  Pleas of AThis is not what we are here for@ are unheard.

But Promise alone cannot feed a crowd. Prowling the halls, jumping flights of stairs, and dancing on the furniture (and kicking up asbestos) -- yet finding nothing new to show, Promise soon exits, frothing and hungry, a wreckage left behind. Hope follows out and, weeping, turns on the sober party outside. AYou are to blame.@

A chant goes up. AYou built this house, you are to blame.@

The Cynics step up and bow. AI told you so.@

Now every Lost Hope, every Broken Promise, every Bad Effect has blame. ASic semper the Past!@

At this, Promise finds a renewed Hope, cheerful again.. Ah, the joys of broken glass, the glee of splinters, the liberation in thrown bricks.

The cynics smile, knowingly. The check is in the mail.

-Bromley, August 19, 2000