Monday, January 25, 2016

A Presidential Endorsement Beautifully Recast as a Poem in The New Yorker

Thawing out, lending our support.
Heads are spinning, media heads—
Farm families, teachers, teamsters, cops, cooks.
Rockin’ rollers. Holy rollers. Hands that rock the cradle.
I was told left and right:
You are going to get so clobbered in the press—beat up, chewed up, spit out.
No more pussy footin’ around!
Can I get a Hallelujah?
He knows the main thing: Go kick ISIS ass—this is what we have to remember.
He’s going rogue left and right man, his candidacy.
Which is a movement, it’s a force, it’s a strategy.
And the proof of this?
Accusations that are so false. They are so busted, the way that this thing works.
They won’t be able to be slurping off the gravy train that’s been feeding them 
All these years.
Well, and then, funny, ha ha, not funny, but now . . . What the heck?
How ‘bout the rest of us?
Right wingin’, bitter clingin’, proud clingers of our guns, our god, and our religions,
And our Constitution.
Tell us that we’re not red enough? Yeah, coming from the establishment. 
Right.
They’ve been wearing this political correctness kind of like a suicide vest.
And enough is enough.
Doggone right we’re angry! Justifiably so! Yes! You know, they stomp on our neck,
And they tell us—“Just chill, Okay. Just relax.”
Well look, we are mad, and we’ve been had. 
They need to get used to it.
Their failed agenda, it can’t be salvaged. 
It must be savaged.

No comments:

Post a Comment