- Joan Of Arrgghh x 2
- Buttercup Morgenstern
- honorable mention: terimwal
So much fodder this week – it’s hard to choose, isn’t it? The Dancing Vaginas, Chris Matthews completely losing it in a restaurant, a president who doesn’t watch the opposition convention but has to stomp his cyber foot and tweet a rebuttal, dog whistles, the icon of Obama eroding from the base. I took the easy way out and went with the most obvious candidate for News Item of the
I happen to enter golf shops and ale houses
punchy, incoherent, like a choomer,
navigating in a water of politics and asses.
The smell of Michelle makes me wail.
I want only a respite of weed or meade.
I want only not to see capitalism or self-reliance,
or merchandise, or coal mines, or oil derricks.
I happen to be tired of my friends and my 23 handicap
and my wife and my shadow.
I happen to be tired of being a President.
Created from sand?
Who has seen such power
That rules now our land?Who has seen a dictator
Who does as he wishes?
Who has seen a VP
Who plays “Go Fishes”?Who has seen a pResident,
None too nice and none to sharp.
A guy with a smile
Who only seems to harp.Who has seen the intellect
Of the Democrat party?
An empty grin on a head
That’s none too smarty.Dirty Harry, that’s who.
His observations were clever.
He draws a bead on an empty chair,
And asks us to think when we pull that lever.
The RNC, awash in cash
and saved by Private Ryan
major-leagued a boring bash
for insiders who were buying.
From mom n’ pop to Taylor Hicks
the Party lineup paraded there
the gray and oldest of their tricks
with power grabs and helmet-hair
The teleprompted floor rules bagged
the designated hitters
The Paul-bots routed, tongues were wagged:
No delegated splitters!
Bold speeches followed head-to-tail
Like three-ringed pachydermia
Their tones and drones our ears assailed
to a state of hypnothermia
A mystery guest! Who could it be?
I rouse my sleepy senses
He’s aiming for the fences!
He swings, he hits, he scores at-bat
the Party now to life returns
A simple hit, a sturdy thwack
Is all it takes to turn the worm.
An empty chair,
An old man’s dare.
A simple twist. . .
. . .all in the wrist.