Execrable Epidemic

Mary Christian had it written on a note
When she got to the booth she’d know how to vote
She felt good going in but not enough yet to gloat
Wearing red, with white and blue and a tea bag laden hat
Signed her name in the register with a pen whose ink was black
Said a prayer then threw her vote note in a star spangled tote

Old John Sergeant saluted his flag smartly that early morn
‘Twas voting day and he had an obligation that must now be borne
He’d been a union man but his devotion had of late been wholly torn
Drank his coffee whilst listening to Rush on the waves
Damn liberals and their health care sending old folks to the grave
Put his Legion hat on and walked proudly out the house with a scorn

Jason Callow met the day with a searing, screaming pain
Done three tours of duty in Iraq coming back with an injured brain
But smiling Army doctors assured his parents that he was quite sane
Took his hunting knife and deepened the carved swastika on his arm
Time to vote today he remembered looking out across the farm
Got in the pick-up, tuned into Savage, and headed out into the rain

Lisa Bigotte sat and watched the “President” speak on TV
She chewed her nails and clenched her fists pissed at how it came to be
That a “foreign” man with African tan was elected in the land of the free
Then she walked in the bedroom, and slapped her daughter for listenin’ to rap
Told her three year old son she’d slap him too if didn’t clean up his crap
And grabbed her handy voting guide, a “special gift” from Sean Hannity

Dennis Moroni awoke with a half drank beer can in his hand
He slammed down the rest wonderin’ what the hell had happened to this land
Cranked up some death metal on the stereo from his favorite band
At the age of thirty six for the first time he’d go vote
Had a Ninth grade education and wore a camouflaged torn up coat
The guy on Fox said it was time for “real folks” to make a stand

George Fuming had seen and heard enough bleeding hearts in his day
And it was time to vote and get the sons’a’bitches out of the way
The country had gone to hell because of lack of work and too much play
So he put on his ball cap that said “Freedom’s not Free” and moved spryly
Got into his Nissan hatchback and switched on the morning O’Reilly
He’d stop at the bank and cash his social security check on the way

One year later having gone through spring and summer swelter
Mary, John and Jason spent a chilly Night at the local homeless shelter
With George and Dennis, Lisa was there, John often whispered that he smelt her
Mary complained “it just wasn’t fair” that she’d lost her home when she lost Medicare
John said he’d worked “his whole life”, his social security taken by a reckless budget knife
The other four stared at the floor, Lisa had a black eye where her ex- husband had pelt her

They’d taken Jason’s carving tool, the swastika was healing but not his mind
Dennis was quickly hurting bad, he needed a drink and a job he wouldn’t find
George lived in a odious hole, hated “them” on the dole, for on his back… they dined
But Lisa reminded all of them, they had “their country back” and that was great
As they filed, mumbling incoherently, to view Glen Beck’s Two Minutes Hate
And they pined and so whined for the good old days they had left behind

Desperate people, sick and starving now packed in under the lee
The country was battered and their lives shattered without even a cup of tea
Then slowly, so ever slowly, they saw the lies, of Plutocracy
And the yachting class indulged themselves and kept up the old class war
They told the people to succeed you simply had to work much more
Then on 9/11, a rousing anniversary, televised for all to see, they strung up a innocent
Muslim man…To a weeping… willow tree