Debatable

 

 

I said in my last post, that this is not the time for satire.  But if you can’t laugh now, how can you cope?

I used the image above, that of a window, to illustrate my point.  The broken window above no longer functions as a window.  So if I described it as a window, is this the image you would see, or have I perhaps left out a few crucial details?

Here is a rhyme that makes fun of a similar alternate reality, being presented to the American People as Fact.

Sancho is the name of Don Quixote’s sidekick, in the famous Spanish novel by Cervantes.  Sancho Panza is Don Quixote’s ever-present loyal follower.  He serves as a contortionist-style apologist, or explainer-in-chief, of his boss’s deluded ravings.

Many details of the poem are pulled from more or less current events.

The superlative, for those who are not up on their grammar, is the form of the adjective that takes the ending -est (good, better, best; silly. sillier, silliest.)

I hope you will agree, that using the adjective “superlative” is no exaggeration, when one is describing the Exaggerator-In-Chief.

 

I trounced the Left in my debate,

Succeeding there, to dominate

The frail and weak, the old and lame,

The codger, Liberal, What’s-His-Name.

 

My sidekick Sancho had his day

And blew that Communist away,

With soporific sighs, sublime,

And masculinely, stole her time.

 

Oh, do not fear dear COVID’s kiss!

For only wusses die from this.

No heroes let themselves be caged!

Such play is for a children’s stage.

 

When I felt flu-ish, I departed

In a chopper (which was smart!)

And spent a day or two away,

With docs, who signed an NDA.

 

And while a-bed, a cocktail took—

A Cure!—and now, I feel and look

Like me, some twenty years ago!

God blessed me, with a miracle!

 

Why should I fret?  Though twenty-eight

Now quarantine, I’m feeling great!

And do not feel a bit contagious.

Though I find it quite outrageous

 

That a drive, to see my fans

(Quite pumped, with steroids in my veins)

Should be critiqued!  Opposable?

Aren’t body guards disposable?

 

I’ll never get a passing grade

From polls, Fake News.  But Boat Parade?

An indicator I can trust!

At last—Unbiased. Serious.

 

I lead my race of milky white,

Who shudder, at impending Night

Descending:  Racial Suicide.

(There are good people on both sides.)

 

How could one choose a man, not Me?

My vast superiority

Should be quite evident to all.

I’m loud. I’m proud. I’m round. I’m tall.

 

I’ll have a vaccine out that door,

Like no one’s ever seen before,

I’ve done the most.  I give and give.

I’m, truly, most superlative.

 

 

Copyright 2020 Andrea LeDew

 

For another look at health and sickness, see a hypochondriac’s poem:  Too Sick.  For the rest of this series on the 2020 presidential election see Sixty Days.