• Burnout

A Political Poem

Twas two nights after Labor Day and all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.


The white clothes were hung by the chimney with care

In hopes that St. Catherine of Alexandria soon would be there

The neighbors were nestled all snug in their beds

As visions of impeachment danced in their heads


My gal in her kerchief, and I in my cap

Had just turned on “The Sting” so we could work in a nap

When out in the street there arose such a clatter

I leapt from my bed to see what was the matter

Away to the window I flew like a flash

And there was Antifa having a bash

The moon lit the breast of a newly downed statue

In my panic I tried to chase them with shampoo

Then what to my wondering eyes did appear,

But a miniature sleigh, pulled by 8 Lib Pandeers

With an oafish, boor driver so shifty and wayward

I knew in my heart it must be Bob Woodward

More rapid than hummingbirds his dumb thoughts did fly

All I could think was “who the hell beliefs this fish looking guy?”


“ORANGE MAN BAD” he screamed from his seat

The flappity old man jowls resembling spoilt meat

“TO THE PRESS TO THE PRESS I HAVE STORIES TO BREAK”

The sound of his voice made me long for a stone and a lake.


And with every raspity breath that he took

A searing hot hurricane did my legs shook.


With a tome full of second hand, made up B.S.

Only a severe opium addiction could cause this dreamed up mess


He jumped into tv to whine about Trump

With all of the charm and credibility of Quasimodo’s hump


As I looked out past him, and back at Antifa

I realized ol’ Woody was just White Wiz Khalifa


He’s got lots of thoughts and he’s full of hot air

But at this point, there’s just nobody who cares


So I told him to stuff it, and turned back to the riot

And with the power of Trump, I made them all quiet



And that is the story September 9th,

The day that Bob Woodword failed in his strife.


You see, Woodwords like money, and he’s selling a book

By sitting on Trump news, he’s only a crook


The left doesn’t care, and so why should we

When we can go to the library, and mock Bob for free.



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©2020 by Flapper.

Keep the Faith. Hold the Line. Own the Libs.

Mathew Foldi is a Lib