It the Control

I wrote this poem in 1967. The subject was inspired by J. Edgar Hoover who was then the head of the FBI. He had a book on everyone who was anyone and wasn’t shy about using the information in his book to blackmail officials to get what he wanted. He ruled the FBI with an iron fist for 37 years. Needless to say, this poem resonates today.

“Now I lay me down to sleep…”

There it is,

Can you hear it?

“My soul to keep…”

There it is again



“And if I die…”

Creeping down from high places,

Sneaking under locked doors-


The phone is ringing.

I told you so.

Don’t answer or

It will come in through the wires.

“Our Father who art…”


Incantations will do you no good.

Pull a blanket over your head-

That will serve you better.

What is It?

Are you crazy?

It is BIG

And small.

Hard like steel

And It flows like diarrhea.

Wires- there are wires

Running all through It.

Transistors, converters, micro chips,

A thousand eyes and ears

And mouths…

Haven’t you seen It?

Fat Cats, big bucks, gunpowder,

Military muscle, FBI, CIA

Ford builds a better American Way,

Pig’s shit, hot air, and used condoms

Are It’s innards and

It’s tentacles reach through

The crack under your door and

Unless you do something about It

It will grab your life and

Throw it into a little grey box

Where It can exert more control


How much of your life

Belongs to you now?


  1. Marie Gillit on April 14, 2024 at 10:24 am


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