A Pair of Candidates
Exclaims, 'Yo mama so ugly, everybody can
tell she yo mama!'
A prudent man in an election year.
But he exclaims it sotto
voce that none might hear,
Much have I
prospered in the realms of gold,
And striven mightily against taxation.
My heart, toward human health and welfare cold,
Warms with compassion for the corporation.
I trounced a field of pygmy lunatics
Who vied to be our Party’s nominee.
Their wing-nut tent-revival politics
Lost to my gospel of plutocracy.
Now I must court the wing-nut vote to win,
But I’m an awkward fit with their theology.
Though we ’re agreed that
most sex is a sin,
They find my faith as queer as Scientology.
I pray the wealth stockpiled to make me chief
Can buy some semblance of their true belief.
If you have any comments on this poem, Chris
O'Carroll would be pleased to hear them.