A poem from the perspective of some “conservative” columnists who would view a McCain/Palin win as something close to apocalyptic.
The Second Slumming
Turning and turning pages of whiners and criers
The readers did not heed their columnists
Things fell apart, the centrists did not hold
McCain/Palin is loosed upon the world
The dim-witted tide is loosed and everywhere
The Inauguration ceremony of liberalism is drowned
The liberals lacked conviction while the red states
Were full of passionate intensity
We all thought some revelation was at hand
We thought the Second Coming was at hand
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a spirited report from the New York Times
Troubles Noonan, Brooks and Buckley’s sight, somewhere in the ice of Alaska
A curvy shaped body; her hair in a bun
A gaze blank and pitiful and so dumb
Is moving her slow witted constituency, while all about her
Reel shadows of the indignant columnists and anchors
The darkness drops again; but now they know
That two years of blissful nuanced daydreams
Were vexed to nightmare by a Wasilla Mayor
And this tough beast, her hour come round at last
Slouches towards Washington to be born?
October 21, 2008 at 5:59 pm
Patronizing twaddle from some second-rate mind. Sarah is a solid young American of superior intellect and ability, and whose life involves more than scribbling pastiches of Yeats.
— Mack
October 21, 2008 at 6:31 pm
Uh Mack,
The poem is mocking those who mock Palin.
October 21, 2008 at 8:39 pm
Stop. Being. So. Brilliant!
October 21, 2008 at 10:07 pm
It doesn’t rhyme. Is that what qualifies it as ‘elite’?
October 21, 2008 at 10:14 pm
Ya know, I try to bring a little culture to you and…(sigh)
October 21, 2008 at 10:48 pm
Oh, well, in that case it’s from a first-rate mind.
Where are my meds…?
— Mack
October 21, 2008 at 11:18 pm
Mack,
You called Matt a second rate mind! Ha Ha!
Mom and I have been saying that for years…
October 22, 2008 at 1:05 am
I’d better go into the witness protection program so your mom doesn’t find me. I wonder if there’s room for one more on the Lake Isle of Innisfree…
— Mack the Repentant