Dreams of the Presidents: From George Washington to Barack Obama

George H.W. Bush’s DreamI’m flying a mission over the Pacific,the water still as a summer pond.With no target in sight,I do some rolls,some loop-de-loops.I feel like I’m fox-trottingwith Barbara, the wind her fingersin my hair. I guide the planejust like I lead her, a promenade,a little twirl and dip.A biplane is on my tail,Saddam in the cockpit like he wantsto cut in, and I try a dive,but he’s still crowding me, so I pull my ‘chuteand drift down over Washington,past the monuments and the pool,onto the White House lawn.A carrier pigeon wingsinto the Oval Office and becomes Dan Quaylewith a note from Greenspan to raise taxes.I scream, “Can’t anyone read my lips?”and Barbara comes running insaying something about Georgiesniffing cocaine again, and I feellike being somewhere else and hopback in the plane, pull on the throttle and we’re upin the air again. I get Saddamin my sights, but remember “kinderand gentler” and bring the plane in.Saddam and I do a hot tangoon the tarmac, and I let him lead.George H. Bush (1989—1993)Bush enlisted on his eighteenth birthday and, ten months later, became the U.S. Navy’s youngest pilot. He flew fifty-eight combat missions in World War II. In his nomination acceptance speech, Bush said, “Read my lips: no new taxes.” Two years later he agreed to a budgetary compromise with Congress raising taxes. Bush also called for a “kinder, gentler” nation when nominated and repeated these words in his inaugural address.Bill Clinton’s DreamI beam when Rabin and Arafat shake handsacross a wooden table and, for the cameras,swap headgear. A star flares, a signof peace, then hurtles toward us,becomes a gavel that smasheslike a wrecking ball into the table,as a robed judge — I can’t tell who,maybe God, maybe Clarence Thomas —intones my name from a towering pulpit.Then I’m back in Hope, a young manpushing a stroller, holding Hillary’s hand.We enter a thick woods.I run ahead, plunge deepinto the forest, stumble through brushand over fallen logs. I’m lost.I see a faint glow in the cedarsand think I’m in a fairy tale,it must be Grandma’s cottage.I imagine Newt Gingrichhas devoured her and waitsfor me, ready to pounce.But it’s the White House,and tourists jam the main entrance,so I duck around back,open the door to a tavernfilled with smoke and music.I get my sax to jamwith Springsteen on stage,but first sit at the bar,buy a scotch for the womanon the next stool. When she turnsto me her mouth openswide as if to scream. I put the saxin and she plays a slow number.Bill Clinton (1993—2001)In 1993 Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin and Palestinian leader Yasser Arafat signed a peace agreement on the White House lawn and, with Clinton looking on, publicly shook hands for the first time.George W. Bush’s DreamAir Force One takes off,banks low between buildings,down alleyways, through tunnels,stretching and bending impossiblylike in a cartoon. I’m having funbut see there’s no pilotand climb over mounds of naked bodies,severed heads. I’m afraidI’ll be sucked under, but crawlto the cockpit and grab the wheel.I realize I don’t know how to fly,and when the White House looms ahead,I wish my father were here.George W. Bush (2001— )