Sometimes Only a Poem Will Do

I

His words are demented.
His thoughts make no sense.
His co-workers hate him,
From Milley to Pence.

So why would one pick him?
Only cult members know.
He dotes on himself;
His Reason is slow.

He praises himself,
As we’re all taught not.
His “yes” and his favor
Are easily bought.

Just flatter and laud him,
And he’ll have your back.
Be you felon or despot,
He’ll lie like a hack.

And how does he lie?
So often and strong,
That his avid supporters
Can’t tell right from wrong.

II

Is this all we have?
Is this who will lead us?
No, we have a choice.
There’s someone who’ll heed us.

She’s noble and female,
A mother by choice.
A trained prosecutor,
With a lawmaker’s voice.

She’s held public office,
For twenty-one years.
She’s put away bad buys
Without fuss or tears.

Her focus is us,
Not herself or her needs.
She sees what we want
And she’ll get it with deeds.

She’s been an “Apprentice,”
But not for a clown.
She’s spent four years working
For a Prez of renown.

Joe Biden is old;
He’s frail and he stutters.
But he’s done more for us
Than have most others.

He picked her with gusto;
He made her his heir.
He passed the baton
With thought and with flair.

III

They’ve not come from prisons;
They don’t eat your pets.
They do come from hellholes;
But have no regrets.

They’ve stepped over snakes
In the Darien Gap.
They walked many miles;
They’ll all take the rap.

So why do they do it,
and so risk their skin?
The reason is simple:
They all just want in.

They come from bad places
Of near-constant dread,
Of thugs and gang bangers
Who shoot for the head.

They crave what we’ve got.
That want a new life:
The chance to improve things
Without war or strife.

The work we won’t do
They do for poor pay.
They’ve no rights or papers,
But yet still they stay.

These desperate people
Are pawns in low games:
They work for big business,
But the GOP calls them names.

IV

A voting machine:
So simple a thing.
It lets you decide,
Who’ll rule you next spring.

The people who come here
Don’t know from voting.
They want only peace and work,
And what they came toting.

But you have a choice,
And it may be your last.
When the Man says he’ll dictate;
You’d better think fast.

Our Constitution’s paper,
Our Declaration, too.
Only we can enforce them;
And that means you, too.

If you vote wrong,
Or don’t vote at all,
What happens next year
Will be your own fault.

V

They’ll come from the country.
They’ll come from the town.
They’ll come from the highlands,
Where the waters rush down.

They may not have voted,
But they’ll do so now:
The stakes are too high,
To sit out or bow.

They’ll come in bright dresses.
They’ll come in blue jeans.
They’ll vote for their futures,
Behind little screens.

They’ll come hard this time,
Where they didn’t come before.
Because this election
Means oh so much more.

They’ll come for their children.
They’ll come to stay free.
They’ll come for a new chance
To say who they’ll be.

The thirty percent
Who don’t vote sometimes
Will drop their excuses
And heed these weak rhymes.

They’ll vote for their future
With an eye to the past.
They’ll vote for a woman
Whose values will last.

And when the dust settles,
The Man will be gone.
His lies will undo him;
His hate will harm none.

And we to Ben Franklin
Will shout with great glee:
Our Republic stands yet,
And so do all we.

---Jay Dratler, Jr.

NOTE: Believe it or not, this poem was inspired by a Russian poem [scroll to bottom for actual poem], one of the greatest patriotic poems I have read. If Russian peasants rising to save their nation from a Czar’s bellicose folly can inspire rhymes, then why shouldn’t a free people rising to save their democracy? Everyone has my permission to reproduce, publish and display my poem above with attribution but no cuts or edits.

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