Churning and churning in the deepening mire
The driver cannot hear the owner swear
Above the spinning wheels; the tires cannot grip;
Arched rooster-tails are loosed around the pit,
His mud-dimmed ride is hub-cap deep in muck,
And simply, unceremoniously, he’s stuck.
Decent people work and love, the vulgar
Want to use it up or burn it down.
Surely there’s a lesson there to learn;
Surely the Constitution’s there to learn.
The Constitution! Hardly is the word out
When a mash-up from a hazy history class
Has lumbered out of wish to incoherence,
A shape that shifts to keep the status quo
By shouting every citizen is free,
If some more free than others, while waving off
The swirling furies of their contradictions.
A new poll drops to try to say again
Definitively who will win the race,
A vexing nightmare or demanding mom,
As this election, its hour come round at last,
Shambles towards Washington to be borne.
TAGS
election, The Second Coming, Yeats
