The Empire Strikes Out
Editorial poem by the Vermont Guardian

http://www.vermontguardian.com/commentary/102005/October21Editorial.shtml

The oddmakers aren’t hopeful about the Bushland team today;
Their poll numbers are dropping fast with few years left to play.
Once Delay got indicted, with Rove facing much the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the masters of the game.

A frightened few broke with the pack, in deep despair. The Rest
Clung to faint hope which “springs eternal in the human breast”;
They thought their slugger still could rise from this Nixonian fate,
There’s yet a chance to tough it out with Georgie at the plate.

But Miers had the spotlight now, along with FEMA’s Brown,
And the former was a cipher while the latter was a clown;
So, upon that stricken GOP grim meloncholy sat,
For there seemed little chance that Georgie could rebound from that.

Still, Roberts surely proved his might, when Senators did call,
While Rummy, proud and much despised, lectured Congress, press, and all.
With arrogant deflections making greater public grief,
Torture flourished, and the High Court did receive a stealthy chief.

Although Miers claimed that Georgie was the smartest one of all,
And Brownie, also despised, had blamed the locals for his fall,
When all the dust had settled, Bushland saw what had occurred:
There was Scooter facing trouble, even Cheney’s future blurred.

Then from neo-cons and fundies there arose a lusty shout,
It rumbled from their choirs, which still had lots of clout,
It echoed from their think tanks, from O’Reilly and the like,
Yes, Georgie, mighty Georgie, was strutting to the mike.

There was anger in his manner as he fumbled for his place;
He would have to deal with questions and control his smirking face;
The press no longer seemed to buy his war on terror rap,
Some even said he lied and dumped us in a desert trap.

Doubts that once could be dismissed were now hard to ignore,
But all that Georgie had to offer had oft been heard before;
The people, they were asking, “Have we all been much misled?”
“That’s partisan,” snapped Georgie. “Strike one,” an anchor said.

From Robertson and Falwell’s folks came up a muffled roar,
Like the desperate howl of creatures who are threatened to the core.
“Kill him; kill the anchor!” Growled Cheney from his lair; —
A likely mission accomplished if the cameras weren’t there.

“How about Iraq’s vote counting,” asked a press guy, less than awed,
“You say they have gained freedom, but the signs point straight to fraud.”
Though Georgie didn’t see that coming, Rove told him what to do:
Blame al-Qaeda’s freedom haters. The anchor said, “Strike two.”

The smirk now gone from Georgie’s lips, his eyes began to blink;
It used to be such fun to rule, when others helped him think.
The questions kept on coming, as more old friends turn away,
Even 9/11 bluster could no longer save the day.

Oh! Somewhere in the U.S.A. there are still signs of hope;
The mighty right is falling, barely able now to cope.
And somewhere freedom rises, fueled by courage, truth, and doubt;
But there is no joy in Bushland — mighty Georgie has struck out.

With thanks to Ernest Lawrence Thayer, author of “Casey at the Bat.”