A self-funded campaign at its outset, then, soon fed by accumulations of dollars two dollars in buckets at speeches, buckets which filled; but no business or industry, interest group, party, none of that was involved.
Campaign slogan: Small ego for big problems.
The refusal to be photographed: disciplining.
A reader, an observer, an organizer, a listener, in person attractive, in action a subtle force towards a better ordering of things, relationships, economies,
with Senator Isaye a slow and steady slightly breeze-buffed toppling into place on higher ground.
The Senator attracts lies, my eager waiting through each particular matter of time before a lie is spoken, the spectrum of the Senator's responses, the immediate red snorts, the aching delay up to the sweet violet Oh reallys.
I'm the aide who precedes Senator Isaye into every setting, I turn off any radio, television or music playing.
Civility promotes longevity: a leaflet cover from his victorious campaign.
My secret slogan: A big black asian homosexual for senator.
After all these years of standing work the Senator sits incorrectly. Has no idea how it is done—
always sitting in the wrong way, sitting wrong, and wreaking further havoc with every effort to change, to sit properly—in every chair I can recall the Senator has undertaken a series of measures, nearly all of them contortions, on behalf of comfort, slinging, at the conference table, one crooked leg over the chair arm, in kurta pajama pants sprawled, inspiring remark, approximating lounging gods,
in ignorance, alas, too closely—a spinal Icarus.
Chronic somewhat sympathetic lower back pain, unshakeable.