While Eaton's poems may be distinguished by their interest in both capital P Politics and in our political lives more generally, there are also plenty about love and other more Personal matters. This page offers three samples. Visit to see other recent poems or to explore archives of poems, essays and aphorisms (1-liners) posted online since 2012.

They did this for any number of years

They did this for any number of years.
She would tell him, often with tears,
She was suffering—at her job, in her
Personal life. He would say or try
As diplomatically as possible . . .
“Were it me, . . . maybe to find I would try—

A good therapist.” She then managed
To get angry at him. “I’m not damaged!”
Was one of her lines. That is, she was
Not damaged like he was. She did not help
Need like he did. So he—suffering less?—
Went silent. Until, after months without help

She’d be back. She was suffering at her job,
In her personal life. For years, she sobbed,
And he—damaged?—too gentle of mind?. . .
Absorbed the accusations that came his way,
Trying, afterwards, to chase them from his mind.

Some people spend their lives this way.


Afterwards we congratulated ourselves and surveyed what remained.
Our most greatest of trials we had come through, with millions maimed
Or poisoned or killed—by pollutants or war?—flags waving, we proclaimed,
We were now stronger than ever and better equipped—with climate change

Much of our lower-lying areas under water, and by unconstrained
Speculation, corruption and concentration, our economy in flames—
Two separately great and hostile countries where once union had reigned
Now prepared to face the challenges of a great century—unashamed

Of overt racial, religious and class warfare, and the sustained
Machine-gunning of ordinary people at school or while being so well entertained—
In what were now the two greatest countries on Earth, no damn longer restrained
By unnecessary regulations or taxes on wealth, or being unfairly drained

By the costs of health insurance and other giveaways, and our police not being
When they happened to kill innocent civilians, and our women again
To home- and baby-making and sexual-pleasure-giving ordained,
Thank God: that these greatest of all nations, their sanity had regained.

March madness
is as good a name as any

An ungainly giant basketballer
To score must best a man yet taller.
In such a crisis could he feel – like the
More upward-looking and oft-blocked we,
Of dunking celebrity long relieved –
A scruffy bush ’neath pointy trees?

And are we enamored of his plight,
Or of the bigger other’s greater might?
That monster impenitent who mocks our balls,
Commandeers the big contract, challenges all the calls?
Might makes right – a comforting certainty
By our courts affirmed, if not universities.

Still, a kiss reserve for those who falter,
While looking up foolishly to basketballers.

Drawing/watercolor is based in one of the "drawings in the dark" (with eyes closed) such as were used to decorate Art, Sex, Politics..