His Mistress Green*
“Now think, ye rich men all, I pray
Of Goody Blake and Harry Gill!”
—Wordsworth (mostly), from Goody Blake and Harry Gill
You see that man, that billionaire who
Insists he knows the low-class woes?
That man, a more-than-millionaire who
Claims to know how hardship goes?
Do you believe that gold-fed man
—Who goes and poops a golden log,
Who claims that all are in his plan—
Is so empathic? Ask his dog.
This Mitt-head (as of now a Mormon),
Who owns, I bet, a sub/car/plane:
I wonder when he greets his doorman
Does he feel that doorman’s pain?
Oh, yes! I bet he tips him great!:
He puts two tickets in his hand
And says, “My boy, here, bring a date
To see me speak. It will be grand!”
(Remember, he was asked about how
Best his boys had served their home,
And shameless, spineless did he tout how
“They campaigned!… Hey… where’s my comb?”
But don’t you doubt he’d send your son,
Your daughter off to distant lands,
With too few bullets in their gun,
To die in Middle-Eastern sands.)
I say a Mormon now because he
Might disown it like his plan
For social health-care. My God! does he
Own one thought? this sketchy man!
And though this flopper didn’t flip
His message at the ACP,**
Don’t think that he had drunk a sip
Of Kool-Aid made with Limbaugh pee.
He has no master but the dollar,
His one true love, his mistress green;
This dominatrix has his collar:
This biggest sub you’ve ever seen!
So vote for him you mammoth red,***
But don’t complain to me if you
Were led astray by what he said;
He might turn out the reddest blue!
*This poem was written using the “Goody Blake”
stanza of William Wordsworth.
**This means, of course, the NAACP, but I could
not find a way to fit in all the letters while maintaining
the meter. Something tells me Wordsworth himself
would have found a way. I am no William Wordsworth.
Hail Wordsworth! One of the greatest Democrats ever!
***Mammoth = GOP elephant