NPR's morning voice-in-box
mentions John la CAR
not once but thrice amidst
daily chest-beating, verbal
puffle-ruffle piffle-posturing
for we of  unwashed masses
this our quadrennial
pachinko parlor grand guignol
Thunderdomish cage skirmish
contesting various sundry
buckaroos, and Lulus, born-rich
or poor, again, or whackadoodled
by choice,asphaliacs born
with silver specula in hand
or self-proclaimed titanium spines
We have grinning, yehyehyeh
Mormaniacs, Gloating Christians
faux hunters, one converted
to Cat-Lickism, we lack only a Wiccan
on a broom to sweep the mess like
so much cat litter overflowing the box,
this dance reality show du jour
comic relief from real stuff
like American Idol or bodies
draped with flags coming back through Dover.
We need a Starship Captain
Who can say Make It So
and it shall come to pass