The helicopter above our heads used to carry the most powerful man in the world. It would take him "home" to a ranch in central Texas. A home he adopted, a home I can't escape. A home that was more of a prop than an actual working ranch. The people of this ranch town were merely extras in a melodrama that has come to an end. It's a wrap. Payment was deferred and meals were not provided.

The helicopter above our heads would shine in the sun. The light, the power, the glory would blind us. But the man inside would lose all connection to reality, so he created his own reality to the detriment of his subjects. No one told the emperor that he had no clothes.

The helicopter above our heads used to carry what some referred to as a genuinely nice man. I won't quibble with that assessment. Nice men have their moments. Nice men sometimes get in over their heads. They become belligerent and vain. Nice men should be running small coffee shops and restaurants, not a country.

The helicopter above our heads necessitated a father-son talk about the dirty business of politics, the failings of democracy, and the myth that every vote counts. For you see, the helicopter above our heads was never supposed to be above our heads in the first place.

The helicopter above our heads used to carry the most powerful man in the world. It no longer does. We remain powerless and he has become powerless. The ranch town has become meaningless and the helicopter flightless, a museum piece – a symbol of ineptitude, hubris, and what might have been.