The Rage of George
Rattling of Sabres
The Gods of War
In the Clouds
The Tyrant Flees
Out of Order
Doing the Patriot Act
The Little Prince
Ichor of the Gods
The Price of Peace
Dead or Alive
Across the Border
Summer in the City
Wolf and Jackal
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and The Idyossey?
House gym, two stories underground,
Is a sheltered shrine to physical fitness.
Few use this temple of sweat;
Stiff and paunchy senior staff can’t find it,
Junior members have far too little time.
The treadmills and equipment sit idle for hours.
One regular, however, can be found there:
Thirty minutes on the treadmill, free weights,
Twenty minutes climbing stairs to nowhere.
Then 100 crunches, a hot shower,
Quick change to crisp attire, formal but with style,
Begins each day for Condoleezza Rice.
On this mid-June day, she’s works out alone.
Condoleezza needs no coach, no companion.
She’s disciplined, directed, and determined,
Has always been about her interests.
From concert piano and figure skating to
Directing foreign policy, she excels.
Her father is a Presbyterian minister, mother
A music professor. But her idol is her Grandpa,
Southern Black sharecropper, who taught himself
To read, and always encouraged Condi
To set high goals and put her faith in God.
Her White House job bears witness to his wisdom.
Single, she’s too strong-willed for any
Male companion. In addition, there’s the rumored
Curse of Condoleezza. Like Cassandra,
Priam’s daughter, Condi foretells the future.
The difference is that unlike Cassandra she’s believed,
And her predictions are always wrong.
On the treadmill, skin shining with exertion,
Headphones blaring Bach, she
Does not notice someone enter, stand
Behind her staring at her tight round ass
As her strong legs stride at 4.8 miles per hour.
Don Rumsfeld wipes his sweaty upper lip.
Don and Condoleezza have an easy truce,
But Don is fascinated by the Black Goddess.
Her talents capture the attention of Simple George,
Other White House men are drawn to her as well.
Articulate, fervently religious and attractive,
Her gap-toothed smile is innocent, yet seductive.
Don, his pulse rising, penis swelling,
Becomes afraid that she will think he’s
Spying on her, which he is. She’ll take offense,
He thinks, and might try to undercut him;
Her power grows by the day, might surpass
His own. No need to antagonize her if avoidable.
Don loudly clears his throat and Condi
Hears the noise. She turns, removes the earphones,
And with that happy gap-toothed smile
She says, “Hi Don…here for a little workout?”
Then slows down the treadmill to
2.5 miles per hour.
“Do I look like I’m here for that? I don’t think
This all-wool, tailored suit will do at all,”
He laughs, puts his hand into his pocket
And adjusts his dick. “I don’t want to interrupt,
But I need some time to talk.” “Let me clean up,”
Says Condi brightly, “then I’ll call you.”
“Great,” says Don, I’m free this afternoon.”
His eyes move to her glistening chest,
Where rivulets of sweat soak her sleeveless top;
Dark stains spread from her armpits.
She notices his gaze and smiles wider,
Grabs her towel, and wipes her shining arms.
Don stares a little longer, then turns away.
He can’t bear to look, he’s hard as a rock.
“I’ll look for your call,” he exits, not glancing back.
Condoleezza, named for musical notation in Italian,
‘Con dolcezza’- to play with sweetness,
Looks at her watch and speeds the treadmill.
Foul Rumsfeld, in his office, calls Cheney.
Dick likes juicy gossip. “Hey Dick,
I was just down in the gym with Condi Rice,
God, she’s hot! You should see her sweat!”
“The woman is an Amazon!” snorts Dick.
“Black Goddess is more like it,” Don sighs.
“You think she wants to run for Governor, Dick?”
“If that Davis recall happens, who knows?
I’d hate to lose our only good-looking broad,” says Cheney.
Most women in the Administration have quit;
Christine Todd Whitman, EPA director, left
Last week due to all the macho bullshit.
Don goes on, “Her upper arms are awesome.
If I were twenty years younger!” “And better looking!”
Adds Dick, laughing. “Later, Don. Gotta go.”
The conversation triggers a memory in Don,
About a black Amazon queen, warrior goddess.
“Califia,” he says aloud, “Who was Califia?”
Turning to his keyboard, using Google for a
He types “Califia.” Milliseconds later,
The screen fills with links and references,
Each URL a source of information.
Don clicks, a website comes up: “Califia”
Says the top of the page, The State of California.
Oh yeah, Don remembers, California’s
Named after black Queen Califia.
In 1510 the editor Ordonez de Montalvo of Seville,
Added to a tale, “Las Sergas de Esplandian,”
About a Spanish knight and his New World adventures
Including Queen Califia, powerful black warrior.
She commanded a tribe of fierce Amazons,
And an air force of five hundred Griffins, with
Wings and heads of eagles, bodies of a lion.
They dined on Christian males, and were
Trained to keep her queendom free of men - the most
Effective way of ensuring domestic tranquility.
The legend ends with her marriage to a knight,
Her country, wealth and power relinquished to a man.
The myth of Califia’s so strong, though, that Cortez,
Conqueror of Mexico’s Aztec civilization,
Names the territory to the North
For the black warrior queen.
Don scans the page, flushed and excited,
Finds reference to a painting, Califia depicted.
He clicks the link, and waits. Slowly,
Top to bottom, the image appears.
Don stares at the screen, mouth agape, penis throbbing.
Before him a black gap-toothed Amazon smiles.