I wrote this poem, quite literally, the evening before the Iowa caucus. In all the craziness over the Rock Hall talk, I forgot to post it here. I hope it is enjoyed.
Twas the night before caucus, as I sat and I groused,
at the rank office seekers from the Senate and House
The yard signs were set on our front lawns well known
In hopes that the canvassers leave us alone
As the candidates uttered policies Darwinian
And professed the whole ballgame, like 2 Corinthians
Since ma loved no Clinton and I felt no Bern
We rested our brains like some unpaid intern
When out on the driveway arose such a noise
That I’m sure it was heard from Dubuque to Des Moines
Quickly I sprung, wond’ring what the hell happened
Was it some neer-do-well or a drunk precinct captain?
Then what to my wondering eyes did I scan
But a stretch limo pulled by some eight also-rans
“Make America Great!” said it’s motto, remodeled
I knew in a moment it must be the Donald
More rapid than vetos his posse they came
In a Long Island accent, he called their out their names:
Now Carson! Now, Rand Paul! Now Kasich and Christie!
On, Marco! On, Jeb! Bush!, On Huckster and Carly!
And the limo sped off, ’twas no smooth apparatus
It was shaky and doubtful as Ted’s legal status
“Divide all the Moderates! Build a Mexican wall!
Or else you’re fired, you’re fired, you’re fired, all!”
As the limo sped off, I could see it was true
With a sack full of red hats, there stood Mr. Trump too
Uninvited he walked through the door, no true hurdle
It was open to access like Hill’s email server
As he tried to win over castoff Perot voters
He promised to stop Muslim migrants and quotas
With his pockets outstretched from two wives’ alimony
He sneered when he laughed with a cadence so phony
He then offered a deal in this late evening hour
If I gave him a pledge, I could stay in Trump Towers!
I wished I could help him, but I couldn’t do so
I was white and in debt as the next Bernie Bro.
His eyes how they glowered, his hair, orange as Boehner,
And his stage makeup dolled on just like Megan Trainor
His hairpiece immaculate, set like a swan
Like Bill Shatner’s between TOS and Wrath of Khan
And laying his finger inside of his nose
His toupee sprouted wings, through the chimney he rose
He sprang to his limo, with his whip, gave a crack
And they vanished like a bioweapon left in Iraq
But I heard him shout out, as he lurched to the Right,
Happy Caucus to all, 9 months til ‘Lection Night!