Twas the Night Before Election

Everyone needs to have a little fun now and then.  Here's a bit of political poetry.  I'm hoping to have a book of political poetry out next year but then I hoped that last year too.  

Anyway, enjoy.

 

The Ballad Of The Vagrant Voter - 2016

T’was the night of election and all through the day,

Voters filled out their ballots; “An obligation,” they say.

The mailings were done, the attack ads were launched,

In hopes partisan voters remained ever staunch;

Party faithful were seated before celebratory spreads, 

While visions of appointments danced in their heads;

When from the television there arose such a chatter,

All sprang to the screen to see what was the matter.

The pundits had spoken, the polls had been taken;

But something was wrong, the press was forsaken.

Despite all predictions the voters expressed ire;

“How could this have happened? Who lit this huge fire?”

On LAUER, on PELLY, on WILLIAMS and KOPPEL;

On KELLY, on BLITZER, this trend we must topple.

It’s time to unite, show the power of TV;

The polls are still open in the far West you see!

And then in a twinkling all noticed the proof;

The maps clearly showing, the people had goofed.

The underdog candidate; he who could not win;

Had dealt the anointed a blow to the chin.

The results were announced with many a tear,

The pundits pronounced, “Now we’ll all live in fear,”

Then strode to the podium, the person of note;

Basked in the results of a big electoral vote.

His eyes - how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the color round his eyes was as white as the snow.

“Now you’ll see the economy come back with a roar;

We’ll get people working, that’s a help to the poor.

We’ll roll back the taxes, build infrastructure;

You’ll all find life better, under this, my ducture.”

Pundits still wonder how this all had occurred;

The truth of the matter? The opponent was lured.

Disaster? Apocalypse? Perhaps even worses;

Resulting in hubris and on then, to voter curses!

 

Pay It Forward

Indian On The Sound - 1895

The old Indian wrapped himself in the trade blanket; his most prized possession.  Over and over he mumbled his death song; struggling towards the cave he’d found as a young man.  The last of his tribe, the old man had buried his grandson, skin eroded with pustules, just hours ago.

Finally reaching the well-hidden high mountain cave the old man expended the last of his strength  crawling inside.  He discarded the blanket despite the bitter cold, chanting his death song one final time.   

Seventeen decades later the young couple enjoying the last adventure vacation of the summer found the cave.

“Look Ken!  There’s something inside!”

“It looks like an old dead person!  Don’t touch it.  I think it’s been here for a very long time.  We’ll report to the ranger station when we get back down the mountain.”

“Look at this blanket!  It’s so beautiful.  He’s got no use for it anymore.  I want it!”  Donna wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and twirled.  “Let’s take it along.”

“Ok, but only until we rejoin the group.  We’ll give it to the park ranger on the way down.”

The blanket was a sensation.  All the girls in the international tour group wanted a picture. They posed, wearing the ancient artifact; boyfriends draping arms causally around the girl’s shoulders.

At the airport there were goodbye hugs all round then everyone hurried to catch flights to home towns all over the world. 

The Mayo Clinic, 2018; “No cure, or treatment for smallpox exists.”