An Aspiring Architect Goes to Washington

After Dana Gioia

He pondered the architecture
when he visited Washington,
pondered its form and its meaning.

He had grown tired of the ugly post offices
and the practical, functional, tasteless
government buildings back home,
housing bureaucrats—depressing structures—
generic-brand, damning, efficient.
I am a hapless cog in their expedient wheel.

In DC, he ascended the steps
of that Greek, Doric temple
where the Great Unifier sits
and grants all access to his throne.
He could see, too, the tomb of Cincinnatus,
and he heard the ghost of Luther
echoing through Washington’s temples—
frightening, overwhelming;
beckoning him to participate, think.

Half a mile away now, the J. Edgar Hoover Building
squatted guardedly, office doors locked, tight.
Brutalist architecture. Disconcerting angles.
Alienating, empty, surveillance windows.
He remembered its dehumanizing echoes
from all the way back home.

Of the people, by the people, for the people,
or governed by secret police?
Incarnate being, or careless customer?

Print