Govt. Mule

The phony weekend

put me down with a fever

and the chills.

I'm illin' 

for sure.

All drab day

the radio keeps 

me company.

Running a temperature,

running your mouth,

running for office,

running the table,

running a game.

They're up there

getting mile high

and busting 

each other's balls.

The mule's balloon

and 

the emcee's tumor

can't divine 

the aggregated resentment

and butterfly knife

bitterness 

pooling up 

in the corpse

of the body politic.

No matter how 

you play it

it's just calling the shots

on a leaking life boat

with a spoon for an oar

and a collection notice 

for a sail.

If you want it so bad

you can have it.