Cruz Control
There is no moral arc with Republicans gone dark.
They are trying to flatline society.
A union based on sanity and truth now needs our spark
to restore some sense of propriety.
January Sicks
They arrived en masse, the January sicks ,
summoned, all, to the White House ellipse.
They listened to their master for an hour,
explain that he’d been cheated out of power.
His one intention simply was to coax
his fans: he’d been the victim of a ‘hoax.’
He told them to march Pennsylvania Ave.
and show the patriotic guts they have.
He said if he was removed from D.C.,
it meant the death of our democracy.
He claimed he’d need at least another term
to make this country’s reputation firm.
And, as if it made any lick of sense,
he blamed his troubles all on V.P. Pence.
“Just hang the man if he won’t change the vote.
It’s obvious he’s become a turncoat.
I may not be beside you,
but let my spirit guide you.
It’s time, Republicans, to rock the boat.”
And then he went and watched it on t.v.,
while drinking Coke and eating K.F.C.
It was the perfect diet to watch a growing riot.
He gloated. “They are doing this for me!”
His kids and colleagues plead for him to stop.
There were a couple dead, even a cop.
But he just let it go, his favorite heroes show,
thinking he’d get his place back at the top.
He watched it for two hours, we are told,
until the insurrection was controlled.
Then, finally, pretending now to care,
he agreed to a minute on the air,
and thanked his charges for being so bold.
“We love you. Go in peace.
Looks like they broke my lease.
But I’ll be back for more.
See you in twenty-four.”
Next time, it will be better engineered,
the fixed outcome which many people feared.
This may have been the last election season
untouched by voting tricks and downright treason.
Twenty Twenty Won
Biden won because he cheated.
That is what the loser bleated.
Hugo Chavez changed the vote.
(All while he was dead, we note.)
Insurrection in D.C.
hoped to steal a victory,
“Hang Mike Pence,” their battle cry.
He dodged the rope and didn’t die.
As the mob fought with the police,
forty-five would not call cease.
His evil brain began to store
plans for a steal in twenty-four.
His henchmen all fell into place,
and voting rights they will deface.
We may have seen our last election,
democracy’s last protection.
The orange team will grab the throne.
And all we’ll do is bitch and moan.
This Year’s Gift
On Christmas I heard a few footsteps downstairs.
I snuck to the steps, clutching one of my bears.
What I saw down there took my breath away.
There sat old Santa, no suit and no sleigh.
He looked very tired, in overalls clad.
When I saw no presents, I thought I’d been bad.
“Sit down here, my child, and let me explain.”
He pulled from his pocket a small candy cane.
He’d eaten the cookies and finished the milk.
His beard was magnificent, white and like silk.
“All presents this year, and I’m trying to be kind,
are not in the physical realm, but the mind.
This grasping at store-bought rewards has to cease.
I’m trying to instill here instead a world peace.”
And then, on his shoulder, there landed a dove.
I noticed a neck tattoo that just said “Love.”
“I don’t have a present for you or your bear.
But what I will give you’s the power to care.
It’s what I am leaving, from Pompeii to Perth,
in hopes that this sentiment could change the earth.”
Then, blowing a kiss, up the chimney he fled.
“If this doesn’t work, next year you’ll get a sled.”
Saying Goodbye
Saying goodbye is an art one learns
when hellos are running low.
If one times it perfectly,
the last goodbye means time to go.
The greetings all run out, there comes
a time the farewell’s down to one.
When that’s spent, it’s evident
one’s come to the end of the run.
In silence now, the darkness falls,
there is no further sound or sight.
Nothing beckons, nothing calls.
One’s on the road to endless night.