Believing I couldn’t write anything about the election and its aftermath that hasn’t already been said, I leave the prose to the pros. Instead, I revert to verse.
A Greek Chorus
The guardrails are down,
Send in the clown,
He’ll pick up his crown.
And soon own the town.
The guardrails are down.
It’s no use to pout
Or mutter or shout,
He’ll just tune you out.
Of that there’s no doubt.
It’s no use to pout.
Some saw from afar
With door left ajar
His path to be czar
Faced no further bar.
They followed his star.
That’s just who we are.
The Lament of a Weary Mariner
“Can we sail home?” rimed Mariner who strolled along the deck,
“I’d love to ditch this albatross that hangs upon my neck.”
“Not yet,” his captain cautioned him, “His course
is not yet run.
“In fact, a further chapter of his tale has just
begun.”
“But albatross is old,” said M., then further dared to ask,
“How long can he continue still his retributive task?
“If he jumped ship before his time, could I my burden shed?"
“Alas, my friend, another fowl is poised to take his
stead.”
High-Coup
He came, he saw, then
Inflamed the nation’s worst fears.
We’ll all pay the price.
Limerick
There once was a felon abhorrent
Who spouted vile things in a torrent.
He snookered a mob
To give him the job
To do as he pleased without warrant.