“Talkin’ Election Blues”

 

c. 2020 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(9-20)

Half past two o’clock in the morning. Up in the dark, with coffee on my mind.

This routine has been set since I reached the point of disability and early retirement in 2016. I stumble around throughout the day, attempting to manage the slow collapse of my living space. Then, at some point, fatigue and Miller Lite send me to oblivion. But always, there is a reckoning. A sleepless moment when I wake to thoughts that have gone loose in my head. Like barnyard animals celebrating an errant burst of liberty.

At that moment, I sit on the edge of my bed. Bones aching and pulse pounding away. Only one cure exists for these fits in the night.

I must write.

This morning, my brain-cells are thumping out a rhythm like Cab Calloway and his orchestra. “Election, election, gonna make a selection. Election, election, don’t need no protection...” The beat is dominant as I make coffee, walk my Black Lab, then pause at my porch bench.

Even before switching to the desk chair in my home office, words begin to flow:

Gonna have an election

Make a selection

Unmasked and bare-assed

No proper protection

A roll in the hay

Be-bop and sway

They’re giving the country away

That’s what the pollsters say

Hey, hey, hey

Lincoln gave his life

For a coffee spoon from McDonald’s

And a Denny’s butter knife

War saved the peace

Gave the downtrodden relief

The scourge of secession

Was banished by this union

Honest Abe saved the day

Now we’re a century away

And more

Fighting like whores

Over street-turf

And hooker perks

Stiletto shoes make their feet hurt

But fear not in the parking lot

You can cast your vote

In an envelope

Or tie it to a rock

Put it through the window

Trumpers trample Tricky Dick

Make us forget

Willie Slick

Every year, filled with fear

Roll the dice and pull your ear

One dollar

Two dollar

Three dollar

Four

Who’s the lucky lad

On the launchpad

Space X sells like sex

Elon Musk

Tugging at the mammoth tusk

It’s up to us

Stuff the ballot box

With athletic socks

There’s one lesson learned

At the school of hard knocks

‘Let the buyer beware’

Stammer and stare

There’s a riot going on

In cell block number nine

But I feel fine

Break out the good wine

It’s party time

Behemoths battle for space

While prophets preach of judgment day

Spin the wheel

Tell us what to feel

Lysander Spooner

And a Jazz-Age crooner

Sing a duet on the duvet

That sound will never go away

So trust me when I say

‘Nevermore’ quoth the ray-ray

Biden bumper sticker in the rain

Worried brows and water-on-the-brain

We’ll be together again

Believe me, friend

But for now

It’s a ride on a milk cow

Bumpy, jumpy

Slung low in plow furrows

Hooves in the dirt

‘Who’s on first?’

Give your mustard a squirt

On the ballpark dog

And run with the hogs

Squeal, squawk, squirm, and squint

Look close, here’s a hint

The choice of a generation

The choice for our nation

Will come down to a coin flip

Thumbs high

What a ride!

Judge declares what isn’t there

‘It is what it is’

Just keep it hid

Like sriracha on squid

Like Oscar the Grouch

Doing a crouch

Under his garbage-can lid

Who’s the winner?

Who’s the sinner?

Roulette spinner, chicken dinner

Fireworks fly

In the evening sky

The stars and stripes

For you and I

Those duds at the docks

Who call Herr Cheeto their boss

Wave the southern cross

Like the cause wasn’t lost

There’s truly nothing finer

Than a bargain from China

Walmart and a game of darts

Bless your heart!

Upset the apple cart

Donkey dancing in the street

This day is complete

But who did we defeat?

New face, old face

Keep up the pace

We’re all over the place

Shell game

We’ve been played

Gone astray, like yesterday

‘Won’t get fooled again’

Trust me, friend

It’s the same corporation

Sponsors, sober or sick

Got a top hat and a walking stick

Heels that click

‘Puttin’ on the Ritz’

Whoever cries

Whatever dream dies

It’s a street paved with lies

On which we glide

Pumped up with team pride

Like a two-fisted, college tribe

But today we don’t worry

About Nadan Chicken Curry

Or chaos in the streets

Battle troops in retreat

Protests in the neighborhoods

We got the goods

A trophy raised high

With a sports fan’s battle cry

Superbowl, loose the trolls

There’s a shooter on the grassy knoll

Bless my soul!

Kennedy died

Nixon lied

Eisenhower seized the hour

Roosevelt gave us help

Clinton clapped for intern favor

Bush wandered

Obama was a raver

Johnson joked

Carter choked

Reagan reached for Nancy

Wishing for his friend chimpanzee

Now we sit on history’s brink

Rolling dice

For a 40-ounce drink

Let me think

A nod and a wink

General Grant

In his underpants

With a cigar in his teeth

A sailor stuck

On the Great Barrier Reef

Like us, kicking dust

In line on Election Day

Hey, hey, hey

No time for stomach aches

We’ve got a game to play

Gaining ground

Scoring touchdowns

Sorrows drowned

In a malt liquor cocktail

And the blessing of Dan Quayle

Drink your beer

And wonder if Lady Liberty can hear

Your petition in prayer

To the spider in its lair

Legs tapping silver strands

A pottery wheel spun by arachnid hands

Strike up the band!

Cast your vote

Hope against hope

That’s all she wrote

Old English 800

Down the throat

This moment has passed

Goodnight, Mrs. Calabash!

By six o’clock, the parade of prose has passed. I am limp. Spent and satisfied. Another morning has transpired with a blessing from my personal muse.

Only one thrill remains – the thought of tomorrow.

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