Wednesday, December 10, 2014

A Poem for the Season

My little tree: Homegrown.
Here's a little something I read at the Liminal Readings Tuesday. It's a poem I knocked out specifically for the readings and it is--warning--political in nature, though Christmas themed.

I had fun with it. Hope you do, too.

Mall shopping

T’was the night before shutdown, when all through the House
Not a Representative was stirring, not even a spouse.
Senators were eager, and they stood with a stare
In hopes that fat lobbyists soon would be there.

The press was nestled all snug in their beds,
Images of scoops dancing ‘round in their heads.
First Lady in her nightie, and the Prez in his cap,
Had plopped into bed, listening to soft rap.

From out on the lawn, Boehner heard such loud chatter
That he leapt from his bench to source the prater.
Through the open window, he made a mad dash,
Knowing his speed could result in big cash.

The moon shown quite bright on the lobbyist’s gold,
Giving bright as day light to Washington’s cold.
But then at the edge of the scene there appeared,
A large black sedan pulled by eight robust reindeer.

The driver was old, he was hefty but spry,
From what I had read, he was here just to pry.
The sudden appearance stopped short at the curb
When the tiny man jumped from his carriage to blurb:

"Now Boehner! Now, Griffith! Now, Goodlatte and Polosio!
Steny Hoyer! And, Reid! And Hurt and talk radio!
Fox news and the Internet to the top of the wall!
I’ll dash you away! I’ll dash away all!"

“You’ve screwed our democracy, you’ve sent it awry,
You’ve mounted a coup to enrich yourselves by.
You’ve sold out your souls, you’ve broken your words,
You’ve made the Kochs richer, you’ve all become turds.”

The old man was rolling his face red and mean
As he degraded the offenders and vented his spleen.
He spoke long of immigrants, women, clean air,
He named off the names, no one did he spare.

The solons and pressmen quaked in his shadow,
As he downgraded all, except Rachael Maddow,
And Senators Sanders, Elizabeth Warren,
John Stewart and a short list, gone nearly barren.

He talked of patriots and their near disappearance
And OF the Pretenders and their wretched assurance,
He spoke of gerrymanders and rules of the Senate
Of crooked judges … like he’d long been in it.

“Today is the reckoning,” Uncle Sam told the gang,
“Today is the day you’re all going to hang,
Up your partisan ways, you’ll obey I assure it,
Today is the day we’re all going to cure it.”

The gathered offenders quaked in their boots
As Sam gave the orders, not caring two hoots
What the monied elite would say in response
‘Cause Sam was the boss, a fact that he flaunts.

As the holiday neared and O’Reilly considered
Uncle Sam’s war on Christmas, the old man re-ittered
That the bill was now due for years of excesses
That he’d no longer tolerate their sordid little messes.

The government saved, Uncle Sam made his exit
Hopping into his van, the reindeer reflexit
He winked and he grinned, “Happy holiday all,
But remember my message: Don’t shop at the mall.”

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