Said a voter in southwest Kentucky,
Mitch McConnell is more than just lucky;
He stays dry in the rain
And he scarcely feels pain
When the chanters revile him as sucky.
The Russians can’t do any harm,
And the President’s base is so warm,
That a handshake with Putin
Behind the red curtain
Will just line them up, arm in arm.
What Pelosi condemns from her pitch
Is beside the point, comments the Mitch.
Unrepentent and smirky,
He sends her a turkey,
And tosses House bills in the ditch.
So what can be done, dare we ask,
About gunners and bodies? Whose task
Is it now to write laws
That take issue with flaws
While the Congress flies off to relax
In the sun on an island vacation,
And the rest of us in desperation
Keep on urging each other
To face and not smother
The rage that’s engulfing the nation?
“They won’t do a thing,” is our meme.
While the Democrats hunt a new theme
The Republican stalwarts
Deplore all the Walmarts
That come between them and their dream
Of a country red-hatted and great again,
A judiciary righteous with weight again,
Having sent the squad back
Where they came from, since black
Brown and yellow they must extirpate (again).
Well, he didn’t much like “Moscow Mitch”
As a label, we hear, but the rich
Say, “There, there, just be bland.
Hide your head in the sand,
And you’ll come out with nary a glitch.”
For the truth of the matter is clear:
The Dems won’t overcome voters’ fear.
Trump will never resign
Or leave office behind—
And why should he? You bring up the rear.
And so, chinless and dewy-eyed, stand
At the podium, practicing bland,
Leaving Schumer to rave
And Pelosi to cave
And the Donald to strike up the band.
Joseph Donohue, of South Hadley, is a professor emeritus of English at the University of Massachusetts Amherst.