'Twas the night of Indictments, and all through DC,
The Rethugs were nervous, even Dick Cheney;
The skeletons were all packed in their closets with care,
In hopes that Fitzgerald hadn't looked there;
Congress was nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of kickbacks danced in their heads;
And Laura in her 'kerchief, and Bush in his ballcap,
Had just settled down for their 2nd evening nap,
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When on my TV there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the kitchen I flew like a flash,
Turned up the volume and got myself a snack.
The glow of the TV in my always-cluttered den,
Gave an air of excitement to my normal pig pen,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
Lights, mikes and reporters. (I popped open a beer.)
From Brian William's voice, so somber and thick,
I knew in a moment it must be Fitzpatrick. (*)
More rapidly than I expected, his indictments they came,
Conspiracy, IIPA, CINA; he called them by name:
ROVE, LIBBY, now Fleischer, now Novak (my word!),
On, Condi! on CHENEY! on Miller and Card!
To the top of the government, to the bottom of the stall,
Indicted. Yes, indicted! Sweet indictments for all!
As cheap levees that after a wild hurricane pass,
When the pressure builds up, they burst like a blast,
So to the Truth, the reporters they flew,
Mobbing the Rethugs, and Fitzgerald too.
Then all the commotion took an incredible turn,
W was named too, all were astounded to learn!!
An unindicted co-conspirator, not really a surprise,
but miraculously it opened up millions of eyes.
Things were now different, from the top to the bottom,
the rot was exposed, the fear was forgotten.
From the squealing of rats that were fleeing the ship,
The country woke up and finally got a grip.
And in the next fortnight, the SCLM made clear,
that they'd been holding back for a good many a year,
While we'd talked on the blogs, and were spreading around,
the "liberal" corporate media had nare made a sound.
But now they were going full blast, wall-to-wall,
People couldn't believe it -- reporters with gall!
And so many stories that'd been swept under rugs,
re-emerged with a vengeance on the vilest Rethugs.
Well, congress changed hands -- both chambers were cleaned!
The country finally healing, or so it seemed.
But even at that point, I wasn't content,
'ere I was again watching the tube, another sacred event.
For this occasion, he was dressed in black suit,
with a snazzy blue tie and flag lapel pin to boot.
A stack of papers he held tightly in his hands,
but he looked like a freshman trying out for the band.
His eyes -- how they glared! his smirk, how shallow!
His hair was like straw and his skin seemed pale yellow,
His bloodshot eyes were on fire with outrage,
yet the bags underneath made him look twice his age.
His jawline betrayed that his teeth were all clenched,
and the t-shirt under his suit shirt was drenched.
He had a dumb face, now a bewildered look,
the same one he'd had holding that pet goat book.
He was failing to hide how uncomfortable he felt,
and I laughed when I saw him, indulging myself;
A twitch of his cheek and a shift of his weight,
confirmed yet again that this night would be great.
He completed not a sentence, and spoke with a jerk,
stumbling on the platitudes, unable to make them work;
but FINALLY choking out words I'd waited so long to hear,
He resigned! He resigned!! (My eyes started to tear.)
Then he bolted from the podium, to his guards gave a nod,
and away they all fled, as from the wrath of God.
Sigh.
And though only a dream now as I turn out my light,
I still have this HOPE... if only Fitz would Indict!!
Update [2005-10-6 1:39:10 by shock]: (*) OK, ok. So I'm now reminded it's Fitz
gerald and not Fitz
patrick, but I decided I'm not going to change it. (Fitzpatrick
rhymes after all! And hey, who's to say that the character in the poem -- me! -- might not mistake the name of the hero?)