Barack Obama’s Ride
(With profuse apologies to Longfellow.)
Listen my children and you shall hear,
The tale of Barack’s very bad year,
It began with such promise, November Two-Twelve
He romped over Mitt, and Ryan he shelved.
Yet, back at the White House as he stood at the stern
The crimson storm waters began to leap and to churn.
He said to his staff, "If the Red States they march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the Congressional arch.
A ruby red torch as a warning light,--
Signal one if by land, and two if by sea;
Make it thrice if Issa—he means to impeach me.
Then be ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Blue county and village and farm.
Then he said "Good-night!" and uttered no more
Turned on his heel, and closed the Oval-ed door,
Just then as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings she lay
The man-o-war Teapot, a powerful brute;
Ready to rampage, and plunder and loot
Meanwhile, an O-aide through catcalls and jeers
Wanders and watches, with NSA ears.
He reads from the Journal, he monitors Drudge,
Benghazi, and Snowden, and all of the sludge.
A whisper, a roar, and what does he hear?
It’s the House that the Founders only held dear.
Down scaled the aide the side of Washington’s Tower,
No choice, from sequester, no lift and no power.
He took one deep breath, he peered down below.
Espies discontent’s seeds so deep did they sow.
Usurper and worse, so the Elephant said,
That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread.
Back to the river, he walks with great care,
To Congress he heads, he knows no one’s there.
Lantern in hand, he locates the arch,
Shines one, two, and three, they are all on the march.
Meanwhile, impatient, atwitter, and keen,
It’s Christie, and Rand, with thoughts of Sixteen.
“Hey, wait” says big O, They picked me for Pres.”
“I turned on the news, and that’s what Wolf said.”
Pshaw said the Right, how silly you be,
For an election to count, we all must agree.
So Barack gazed out upon the realm, looking far and near,
He sought out the issues he once held most dear.
T’was gun control first, in sad Newton’s wake.
But when the NRA frowns, the mighty do quake.
Then immigration, they hoped, could O put that to bed?
Not so fast, that’s Marco’s bill, which made it all but dead.
Then cast his eye abroad he did, yet met with only buts.
The Syrians went tribal, the North Koreans nuts.
At Jo-Berg he shook a Castro’s hand, and selfied with a belle.
Enraging half Miami, and surely all Michelle,
And in Europe, friendly Europe, with Merkel planned a chat
But Angela is quite angry, she’d had no clue of that.
He spun back domestic, sought a bargain big and fine and grand.
Came a cropper when Harry nuked Mitch, and old Johnny took a stand.
Yet foamy outrage grew stale and sour, and default was getting old.
Bored Senators are like the weather; damp, forbidding, cold.
Out of town they sought to be, a Christmas break or two,
So Paul shopped with Patty, and they purchased nothing new.
And O-Care, oh Woe-Care I dare not say too much.
Work it will, he says, with a tweak or two, and a genie’s touch.
And that’s how our year closes, not final is its fate.
Good things will come, O tells us, to those who log on and wait.
Of the future, perchance a glimmer, and then perhaps a gleam?
A year is but a second, a decade just a dream.
It’s always darkest before the dawn, so the sages tell.
Maybe thirteen was unlucky, but the midterms should be swell.
Happy New Year to all.
Michael Liss (Moderate Moderator)
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