Capitol Punishment
By
Holly wooed and Disney whirled
535 trick-or-treaters, dressed as
senataurs and congressaurs and
shouting the pledge of a grievance,
fling into air the bright confetti
of fiduciary scruple,
swarm up the Capitol steps
like San Juan Hill,
some swaying in a conga line,
some lost in the beat of their bongos.
Five
hundred thirty five incongruous
slack-jawed gargoyles
(the finest money can buy)
doze through committee meetings,
dreaming their fondest dreams
of white houses, red states
contending with blue.
At
the twilight’s last gleaming
lawyers and lobbyists descend
like paratroopers from on high,
singing of pork and perk and
Patrick Henry—Oh, how they sing!—
some with a twang, some with
a honeyed, grandiloquent drawl.
Blinded by stars, by wavy stripes, 535
unindicted Congressional co-conspirators
seek to pin tales on donkeys and elephants
in the grand old game of kerfuffle.
A disconsolate chaplain beseeches
any higher power to release the mudslide
of divine grace on those who toil
in the cloakrooms here below.
A Congress of 535 twittering leaves
on the legislative branch
waves and bows in the sultry Potomac breeze.
Amid the volley of bullet points
(bombast bursting in air)
they bellow whereas and be it resolved,
finding money needed today
in the abundant fortunes projected
for the bountiful years to come.
Starbuckled
and bespoken, a Congress
of 535 Lex Luthor look-alikes
parades a large, sticky ball of hoopla
down Constitution Avenue,
gathering whatsoever my fellow Americans
no moss (Por favor! No mas!)
and singing the national anathema
as Uncle Sam, stilted and flagged,
pitches new bonds to the free.
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