Once upon an election dreary,
while I desponded, weak and weary
over many a banal and boring
email of Clintonian yore,
suddenly there came a tapping,
as of someone gently rapping,
rapping at our nation’s door.
My mind was wobbly, cluelessly wobbling
when suddenly there came a goblin,
as some terrible beastie toppling
toppling down our Rule of Law!
Screamed the raven, Caw! Caw! Caw!
Screamed the maven, No more Law, No Election Law!
Then quoth the maven, Rigged, Rigged!
And quoth the raven, Jiggedy Jig!
And then I saw it, in media gone wild
with citizenry by hearsay now defiled
as Comey’s call flew through the door,
Our Elective legitimacy cometh Nevermore!
How this happened, I am not sure.
I only hope we’re not beyond a cure.
But as the storm rolled o’er our news-tossed shore,
I heard again, the raven, Nevermore!
I mean, um, I woke up.
It seemed like the eye of the storm had passed. But then this past weekend we started to feel it– those first ominous stirrings of a fierce backwind–phase two–the last rumblings of a frightfully destructive political maelstrom.
It was Hurricane Donilldary swirling up again from the dark depths of our dysfunction; so soon doth it roll again and again like bungling banshees o’er the coasts of our confusion, until the end, November 8th, the very end.
Highly unstable air–blown up between Donald’s hot bluster and Hillary’s cool cloud’cover– now takes control of what used to be an orderly democratic-republican system for presidential selection.
Makes Watergate look like a walk in the park, McArthur’s Park. Someone left the cake out in the rain.
I don’t think the Weatherman faction could have come up with a more destructive gunpowder plot for blowing up–or at least hopelessly confounding–our constitutionally-established electoral process.
I mean, it has been like this:
The Donald railed loudly that the thing was rigged, carelessly casting, like, acid rain on the wild winds of our discontent. But then, like the scary surprise ending of a Hitchcock movie, we open our jaded eyes to find, in the final (week) scene, that maybe it turns out to be the Hillary who, on the morning of 11/9, perches accusedly at the doorpost of our darkest fears, and there she calls out, caws out, repeatedly, frantically cawing,
So While Comey’s last-minute disclosures in the background then do fade, America’s confidence in the rule of law then fades,
to charade, a giga-question mark tirade,
of fear and loathing from near and far
While squawks the Raven, Bizarre!, Bizarre!
And Anonymous hackers call Who’s the next Star?
of this, our ghastly ghoulish game,
which no constitutional precedent can tame
and who’s the next candidate for our feathering and tar?
Guy Fawkes couldn’t have plotted it better.
We read it in a subpeona’ed email letter.
Quoth the Maven from afar,
so Bizarre, so Bizarre!