King George the Worst
(From The Triumph of Strife: an homage to Dante Alighieri and Percy Shelley)

King George the Worst has managed to debunk
Those expectations always set so low
Surpassing both the polecat and the skunk

To wind up even further down below
The bottom of the barrel he has scraped
Which some might think leaves nowhere else to go

Unless returned to where he had escaped
This corporation-captive callow lad
Around his hollowness a flag he draped

Which left the flag stained brown and smelling bad
In need of burning just to cleanse with fire
The Stars and Stripes sold as a campaign ad

A desecrated symbol out for hire
Worth only what it cloaked of his desire

He used the faith of others as a ploy
And played the simple-minded ones for fools
A cynical portrayal crude and coy

While in his diaper drawers he dropped some stools
A panicked crapping of the monarch's pants
Because the GI blood collects in pools

Despite his same old scripted raving rants
That show the glassy essence of the ape
Whose one-trick-pony show now galivants

Before befuddled boobs with mouths agape
Who realize their pockets have been picked
Which seems less like a screwing than a rape

His hallelujah whores their lips they licked
And laughed at bible thumpers he had tricked

But still he comes again to pass the plate
Insisting he "believes" in "higher" things
Like dads who let him stay up way too late

And moms who see that no unpleasant stings
Disturb the dreams of one kept from the world
A vacant valley where no echo rings

The banner of the brainless he unfurled
And boldly staked his claim upon a rug:
That corner of the room in which he curled

Ignoring the latrine that he had dug
And into which his foreign legion marched
Addicted to religion like a drug

He glimpsed a rainbow that above him arched
While in Iraq his troops lay stiff and starched

Some aides had written words for him to say;
He did his best to try and get them right
But still they came out scrambled any way

Which put intelligence itself to flight
But not to worry, for the press was there
To guarantee that no one saw the sight:

The awful specter that if once laid bare
Would just confirm what many had supposed
That those advising George would truly scare

The people, if they knew how they'd been hosed
By one who seemed not only just obtuse:
A shuttered mind much worse than merely closed

But one who'd lost his little red caboose
And in his head had marbles rolling loose

“But GAWD speaks through this man!” the faithful cry
“When King George says GAWD’s words we must rejoice!”
Which only goes to show how GAWD can lie

For if this GAWD could make no better choice
Than one who told the Pope to go pound sand
This GAWD could surely find a better voice

Or at the least provide a reprimand
Instructing George to work for peace not war;
To worry less about his gutless gland;

To stop pretending that a mouse can roar;
To tell the truth and thus at last come clean
About the Elmer Gantry they adore

They speak of “optimism” when they mean
No more than a belief in the Unseen.

Michael Murry, "The Misfortune Teller," Copyright © 2006-2010