Reactionary Rodent Regency
From somewhere undisclosed yet all-too-near,
He whispered single “choices” in the ear
Of one whose” gut” decided, not his brain,
Those issues on which hung such grief and pain.
He sneered -- when told the people’s feelings -- “So?
With me in charge, they’ve nowhere else to go.
I’ve unified all power in my hands
And need but some Viagra for my glands.”
“It’s Dubya who’s had ‘senior moments’ since
The age of twelve, when he could not convince
Two thoughts of his to free-associate
Because of all the mental crap he ate.”
“So who could blame me, once I saw my chance,
To grab the bureaucratic battle-lance
With which I jousted and my foes un-sat
Who ‘saddled up’ to argue, then fell flat
To squirm like iron larvae on the ground;
The worm inside, like Colin Powell, found
Himself not near so terrible as caught
Too easily to learn the lesson taught.”
“For those beneath the level of my game
Have no one but themselves to rightly blame
For handing me a priceless prince as prop;
A perfect catapult for silly slop;
The kind of foil in which rubes see their kind,
Which guarantees that they will never mind
Whatever drivel from his mouth ensues
As long as I supply him with his cues.”
“What John Nance Garner once pronounced as fit
For not one bucket brimming with warm spit
(Or, “piss,” most likely was the proper term)
My lowly office, I have made a germ
That gestates best just like the mushroom stool
Who gladly pays lip-service to a fool.
Preferring dark and dank to light of day,
In secrecy, I knew where power lay.”
“See, Dubya sleeps profoundly at the switch
And scarcely stirs except to scratch his itch
For posing as the ‘chief commander guy’
Who barely learned to crawl, much less to fly.”
“So I have just my own self to efface.
In public, I profess to know my place.
While yet, in private, none escape my hold.
With all the cards, I never have to fold.”
“I’ve given out instructions how to lob
Pure double-speak at the unblinking mob.
To any questions, we just ‘haw’ and ‘hem’.
What do they think? This land belongs to them?”
“They volunteered two times to let us rule.
Why, then, should we respect the public school?
The more we piss directly in their face,
The more they beg for even worse disgrace.”
“The ‘opposition’ needs a better name,
Since ‘Democrat’ has long since lost its flame.
But since they find it such a yummy taste,
Why should we let our urine go to waste?”
And so on goes Dick’s lecture to the lame
Who cry for ‘change’ but settle for the same;
Whom TV advertisements terrify
With images of blonde girls who might die
Unless a pantsuit sitting near a phone
Picks up and finds herself home all alone
With sniper fire incoming as she lands
At airports, greeted by some cheering bands.
With this piñata prom-queen punching bag
As sparring partner (now a stand-up gag),
Why wouldn’t Regent Dick enjoy his days
Spent torturing small mice with which he plays?
The cat with only kittens to confront
Could not care less if he their views affront.
As Regent for the infant Dubya, Dick
Has earned his reputation as a prick.
Michael Murry, "The Misfortune Teller," Copyright © 2008