Can you lie with a straight face? That used to be enough, but now, lying is like breathing. So you must become the lie, live the lie. Learn to love lies— the white ones, the bald-faced, the dirty ones. Most of all, “the big one,” the litmus test, the one swallowed by the base. Say it over and over, until you start to believe it, mind and heart blend to one, like those hating the same people you do. Lie about your opponent, his family too, even the dog. Your resume is trickier, better to just exaggerate. Your name is hard, keep it if you’re able. And if you’re in a pinch and cannot lie, then dissemble, say nothing, or leave town till things blow over. Whatever you do, don’t tell the truth— they can’t take it. Or don’t run for office, just troll on the internet. Hitler, Mein Kampf, the Holocaust? Don’t be silly. That’s all a lie. Trust me
Anne Gruner (she/her) is a two-time Pushcart nominee for fiction and non-fiction whose poetry has appeared in numerous print and on-line publications including Amsterdam Quarterly Review, Beltway Poetry Quarterly, Honeyguide Literary Magazine, New Verse News, Humans of the World, Spillwords, and Written Tales. Her fiction and non-fiction can be found in Dogwood, a Journal of Poetry and Prose, Third Flatiron’s Rhapsody of the Spheres, Persimmon Tree, Constellations: Journal of Poetry and Fiction, Hippocampus Magazine, and others. She is finalizing her debut poetry collection, The Unravelling, which illustrates the causes and effects of the changing climate. A former CIA analyst, Anne lives in McLean, Virginia with her husband and two golden retrievers.
https://www.annegruner.com/
