Revive the Archive: Bill Keller’s “Lies Above the Fold” (2006)

People ask me what I do for a living.
I tell them I am a writer.
“Oh, so you mean like a novelist,” they ask.
I smile. “Oh, no, I’m a liar.”

The looks on faces at that statement
makes the moment deliciously priceless:
always followed by a long, blank stare,
a knowing laugh, and a sarcastic, “No, really?”

I don’t have the heart to tell them
that, everyday, when they pick up the paper,
read bold headlines on translucent, inky pulp,
all they see is what they want to see.

I get a check every two weeks.
Twenty-six times a year. One-thousand-one-hundred-and-eighteen checks
if I can keep on lying
until I turn sixty-five.

I remain content, back-scratched, belly-rubbed content,
knowing I help people sleep at night
when I let them prove to themselves
that they are right.

Conspiracy dictates:
The government funds me from corporate payoffs.
Clandestine appointments made by Senate officials
to make sure people never know.

Reality stipulates:
People are gullible. Writers get lazy.
And writing new lies
is easier than researching the truth.