First Monday In November

Poet: Daniel Neer | Composer: Alyssa Reit

You see me, I see myself on this election eve
My face reflected in your eyes, a mirrored wave of love
A Starry-Spangled mannequin, your slice of apple pie
A swindling blue-blood pedigree, Brooks Brothers head to toe
A rolex wearing, baby-kissing, stallion at the gate
A Windsor-knotted cowboy who can spin a web of guile
I’m a wink – a nod – a bleached-white grin, a frat-boy bustin’ loose
An ivy-league shaman throwing soundbytes like grenades
A forty-something, xanax-popping prodigal son
A trust-fund babe and prep school bully here to steal your lunch.

My campaign trail is at an end, a quick ride to the polls
I’m Superman, you’re Lois Lane so hang on nice and tight
Your heart and soul is up for grabs and I’ve come home to roost
For months I’ve flirted, smirked and sexed my ego to the top.
I stand before you pumped-up on a media frenzied high,
The cameras, lights and talking heads, I cannot get enough
Yet always I spy ugliness I’ll never comprehend:
Your scrunched-up faces hurting as your veiny necks scream,
Your angry fists clenching, and your furrowed brow concerned -
And though I’m not responsible, I’ll tell you who to blame:

It’s the bony claw of empathy, the rainbow-striped chumps
The harpy’s bony finger pointing blame and busting humps -
It’s the bitter bleeding hearts blogging lie on top of lie,
The ethnic and the immigrant who can’t be satisfied -
Who tip our melting pot and spill themselves in our backyards
Who clean our cars and hotel rooms and dare to ask for more
But most of all the spineless fool who shouts on rooftop high
How some are wronged by life unfair that somehow passes by
And though some care for such as these on levels purely human
The strong survive and weak fade out as history often proves.

I’m your chosen puppet, six-foot three and squeaky clean
With action figure swagger, and blue ribbon Grade-A looks
Propped-up to tow the party line, hand-picked I fit the mold
I memorized each talking point, dodge questions like a champ
My image swells with muscled might, the strength of Hercules,
With savoir-faire and witty tact I’ll swing my hammer quick.
I’ll drive the righteous stake of truth through cold November ground
Where doubters hang like scarecrows ready for the winters frost
And weaklings bend on shameful knee to gather up the scraps,
We’ll shed the burden of these bums and take care of ourselves

You’ll see this face, dawns early light, no matter where you are -
The shower stall, the donut shop, the carpool lane commute
No need to think, no talking or discussing with your friend
I’ll shepherd you, the aimless herd to sacred polling site
To drink the KoolAid, cast your vote, redeem yourself at last
And leave the poll cathedral with your conscience well intact
Then after we have swept the nation clean of dirt and grime
We’ll sit on porches so content, with iced-tea in our hand
And in the fiery ball of sunset you will no doubt see
That you see me, I see myself, one shade of truth for all.