I was leaving a restaurant after dinner the other night, when I noticed a man bent over, pointing his phone at a flower growing in a nicely mulched bed near the sidewalk. I stopped and looked at the plant but didn’t recognize it.
“I can’t get an ID on it,” said the man.
“Let me try,” I said.
I took a picture and clicked the little “ID this plant” icon on my iPhone. I was quickly informed that I’d taken a picture of a red hot poker, or technically a Kniphofia, a plant native to Africa also known as a torch lily. “There are many varieties of red hot poker, or torch lily,” I read aloud to my new flower friend, “and they bloom at different times during the growing season. The flowers are red, orange, and yellow.”
The one we photographed was brilliant yellow.
“Red hot poker? Good to know,” he said. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” I said. “I’ve never seen one of these before.”
“Me neither.”
Off he went and off I went. It was a nice random encounter on a nice random night between two strangers who might never see each other again. It happens all the time, almost everywhere, except, I don’t know, maybe Washington, D.C.?
I bring up our nation’s capital because it’s been much in the news lately, and from the coverage I’ve seen, it appears unlikely that strangers are currently walking the streets sharing quaint moments of bonhomie over the local flora. It’s an occupied city, for one thing, with National Guard troops patrolling everywhere, including the National Mall, currently the site of the “Great American State Fair,” which almost no one is attending. (I’m sorry to tell you that you just missed “MAHA Monday,” which featured fun-filled programs on how “the future of health is made exciting, accessible, and full of possibility.”)
The Guard is also “protecting” the algae-and-floating-paint-filled Reflecting Pool, now fenced from vandals who never existed, including a former U.S. Olympic canoeist* who got indicted on felony charges by “Judge” Jeanine Pirro for stopping (along with many other tourists) and touching a piece of floating paint.
To make matters worse, all over the city, architecturally and historically significant federal buildings are now festooned with giant banners featuring the scowling “Blue Steel” mug of Fearless Leader. The place where he lives, sometimes — The White House — also stands behind newly erected fences, dwarfed by the ongoing construction of a giant “ballroom” where the historic East Wing used to sit. The ballroom, of course, has now morphed into a billion-dollar “national defense center,” with a command-and-control room located in a giant underground bunker and snipers permanently stationed on the roof. Meanwhile, the White House South Lawn, recently the site of a UCF cage match, looks like Tom Lee Park used to look after a rainy Music Fest weekend — a muddy disaster area.
But wait, there’s more! The president is planning to build a 250-foot-tall “Arc de Trump,” which will eliminate the historic view from Arlington National Cemetery to Washington’s monuments. He’s announced the destruction of a large grove of Washington’s storied cherry trees, to be replaced by a practice range for a golf course makeover Trump is personally overseeing. And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Trump’s “National Garden of American Heroes,” which will feature statues of 250 Trump-selected Americans at a cost of $400 million. Bidding for slots will start soon, no doubt, if it hasn’t already.
And speaking of 250 Trump-selected Americans … About that many members of the white supremacist group, Patriot Front, marched around the nation’s capital on July 4th, wearing masks (of course), displaying Confederate flags, and demonstrating for their beliefs, which include antisemitism, hatred of immigrants, and ge-neric racism against anyone or anything not Caucasian. This putrid Nazi-fest was occurring in Washington on the same day the president was giving a speech warning anyone who would listen (an increasingly smaller group) that the Democratic Party was trying to force America to become communist, which “they’ve been trying to do for hundreds of years,” he said. Which would no doubt be a surprise to the late Karl Marx.
It’s too much to take in, sometimes — week after week of narcissistic ignorance, waste, and madness. It’s enough to make me want to grow a garden full of red hot pokers. I know just where I’d stick one.
*An earlier version of this column misidentified Olympic canoeist David Hearn as a cyclist.
