Representative for the Lower House Man

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Rubs her drunken eyes near Toquerville
And bursts into uncounted blossoms.
(Toquerville is a town in Utah,
More or less equidistant between
Saint George, where the poet was working,
And Springdale, where the poet then lived.
The poem's first line is a quotation.)
All of this was back in early March,

A time lost to imagination,
What one appalled critic called a pool
Of mud and blood. Well. What but design
Of darkness to appall. Do the math.
The best evidence for creation
Is that our universe, or the world
That appears to be our universe,
Is a simulation. If not, why
Would mathematics work perfectly

Consistently to describe our world
Before we had discovered our math?
And what has this to do with cherries?
If the world is best described by math,
Then for nonsense, poetry's the best
Way to populate the barricades
Against the ruling party's decrees.
I love numbers and politicians
Equally. I just don't believe them.

The majority party in house
Had better be truly popular
To cast their votes against me. I'm old.
I existed before votes counted.
Nothing's equal before me, except
Votes registered by mythology
Of purely equal strengths in numbers,
Not in spite of contrary belief
But as I believe contrarily