Cracked faces on wheels,
Cloudy eyes drinking
Shiny teeth and slicked-back lies
From electric feeding tubes
Along the southern coasts
The politicians and pundits
Have had their say. They have it
Over and over, every day.
For the rest of us, it's a
Two-year wait, then
A simple scream in binary.
The fear of "being political"
Is a very handy fear to have around.
Be sure to keep some stored
With the Clorox and in the boot
With the jumper cables.
It's super against stains
And for quick getaways.
A political party that remains silent in the face of unremitting evil, fearing its base will desert it if it challenges the Devil, is the Devil’s party.
So I’m supposed to be grateful
That Pelosi is old-school cagey,
A McConnell in a dress,
Headmistress of a house of mirrors
In which nothing is somehow
Everything, a political masterpiece
Of feints and delay.
A man selling beets at the midweek market
Tried his best to denigrate his rivals’ roots,
Pointing out departures from perfection
Altogether harmless and common in such crops.
About his own beets, however, he was silent,
Offering them only in opaque burlap
Sowed extra tight, the merchandise
Beyond inspection out of sight.
Blond and blue-eyed bots.
Lies zipping past polished teeth.
Seem relentless, eternal,
Every day a century.
Decency's out of print.
Tastes have changed.
Nasty's in and all the rage.
In case of fire, break glass.
There’s a fire.
We broke the glass.