A REFUGE FOR POETS WHO WRITE IN THE LYRIC TRADITION,
WITH RHYME AND METER, WITH OR WITHOUT MUSIC
|
MISTER GORE
We will count them, Mr. Gore.
We will count them more and more.
When you like the final score,
We will stop, and not before.
We will count the ones you choose.
We will count the slightest clues.
You were not supposed to lose.
Voters must have been confused.
We will count them all by hand,
Excepting those from foreign lands,
From soldiers you would soon command;
These we treat as contraband.
Some think stealing is a sin.
Lest their patience wear too thin,
Let your dogs attack and spin.
May the better lawyers win.
When at last the counting's through,
And you complete your bloodless coup,
It will not matter what you do;
No one will believe in you.
Canton, New York, 2000
|
|