With apologies to the redoubtable William Haskins - this poem is a topical adaptation of his poem, Colors. (password is 'citrus')
We watch
the vote in States of red
to end the scourge of
Tax and Spend,
to keep the guns
upon their shelves --
and pray we don't get shot ourselves.
We watch
the vote in States of blue
to boost the Poor and
Middle Class,
to pay for doctors everywhere --
at home in castles in the air.
We watch
the cars bedecked in yellow
ribbons to proclaim
support,
as soldiers risk their lives in toil --
those cars, they burn a lot of oil.
We watch
campaigns in Black and White
with tales of preachers'
God-Damn gaffes,
or sniper fire in Serbia
no worse than in suburbia.
We feel
the words congeal to grey,
the bungles bundled
end to end,
they summarize America --
we drown in esoterica.
We watch
the vote in States of red
to end the scourge of
Tax and Spend,
to keep the guns
upon their shelves --
and pray we don't get shot ourselves.
We watch
the vote in States of blue
to boost the Poor and
Middle Class,
to pay for doctors everywhere --
at home in castles in the air.
We watch
the cars bedecked in yellow
ribbons to proclaim
support,
as soldiers risk their lives in toil --
those cars, they burn a lot of oil.
We watch
campaigns in Black and White
with tales of preachers'
God-Damn gaffes,
or sniper fire in Serbia
no worse than in suburbia.
We feel
the words congeal to grey,
the bungles bundled
end to end,
they summarize America --
we drown in esoterica.