dirty rag

US Politics - Quoth the Simian, "Four Years More" - Tim Trader

Once upon a midnight dreary, I pondered a country that grew weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore. While I deftly plotted, nearly snapping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at the White House door. "'Tis some lost buffoon," I muttered, "tapping at the White House door - only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak November, when hollow words flew from each partisan member wrought with dead dreams upon the floor. Eagerly I wished for a new tomorrow; unselfishly I had sought to borrow from books that offered a better life instead of sorrow - sorrow for the lost ideals Americans bore. For the dream that never existed, the democracy we've never possessed at our core - nonexistent here for evermore.

Presently my soul grew stronger, hesitating then no longer. "Sir," said I, "truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I am close to snapping, and it is quite vainly you came rapping, so vainly through the court house you came dance tapping, now rapping at the White House door. Some scarcely believe your appearance here is legit, you're at least undeserving for sure." Here I opened wide the door - darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, doubting, the foundation of ideals no American has ever dared to doubt before. But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, only two words there were spoken, "Democracy Nevermore." Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the White House turning, I opened the window here burning, when, with many a flirt and flutter, in stepped a shifty simian from aristocratic days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a bit of intelligence or benevolence displayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above the White House door - perched upon a bust of King George, perched and sat and nothing more.

Then quickly this monkey began defiling the fabric of hope I was compiling, by the grave consequences of the foolish political suit it wore. "Though thy family crest be noble and wealthy, thy intentions here are not healthy, for this country's problems thou art not the cure. Tell me now how long you wish to commit thy lordly sins upon America's poor." Quoth the simian, "Four years more."

Much I marveled this monkey so ungainly to hear its discourse so plainly, and though it spoke quite lamely, its presence carried great abhor. For we cannot help agreeing that no average human being ever yet was blessed with seeing a feudal lord perched above the White House door.

But the simian still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of monkey, and bust and door. Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking about this feudal Cro-Magnon from aristocratic days of yore. But perhaps he'd help me to restore this country's will, which I've begun to deplore. Surely, he'd be game if he really wished to stay for four years more.

"How 'bout this," I asked, "with heath insurance its hit or miss, many Americans don't get their fill, thus they cannot afford to get ill, let's use money wisely so that government can help pay the bill, then thy goodwill we'll all surely adore. Christians, like you, are renowned for helping the sick and the poor. The gift of life should not be left in the hands of some greed-whore. How much longer must this uncanny level of uncaring endure?" Quoth the simian, "Four years more."

"Well, how about our schools, can't thou see that they bleed? We must send them more money with hastily speed. Thy vouchers will not help, only impede, whilst our children writhe flailing in need and falling on the floor. Foolish monkey thy brain must be sour and sore. How long 'til all children get what they deserve without hassle or chore, 'til they're educated enough to vote for the likes of you nevermore?" Quoth the simian, "Four years more."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! Prophet still, if monkey or devil! Whether Supreme Court sent, or whether Texas booted thee here ashore. Desolate yet all undaunted, this once great land by your horror now is haunted. Tell me truly, will you put missiles in space with a roar? Other nations may resent that for evermore. There are better uses for this money I'm sure. Tell me how long must you stay, tell me I implore! Quoth the Simian, "Four years more."

"Be those words our sign in parting," I shrieked, madly upstarting, "Get thee back into Texas and leave the District of Columbia's shore! Leave no token of the foolishness thy soul hath spoken! Leave my nation unbroken. Take thy hands from off the reigns, and take thy form from off the White House door!" Quoth the simian, "Four years more."

And the simian, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting on the feudal bust of King George just above the White House door. His eyes have all the seeming of a tyrant dictator that is dreaming, and the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor. And the country's soul from out that shadow on the floor shall not be mended for at least four years more.