The Storm-Front In A Politician's Face

Her pretty face has turned into a wart of rage As if a pit bull were leaping halfway out from the facial planes As if the cosmic crab were breaking through a rift in dimensions What if her snarl reaches me in my domestic zone? It has reached me in my curdled liver In my doom-scrolling distraction In a previous lifetime I must have neglected her She's an accusing child, neglected by everybody In every single lifetime up to now If our collective karma were better, she wouldn't be this way Make no mistake, she is a force majeure But the poll workers have a brotherhood And they won't work with screwballs Meanwhile she is sending screwballs their way by psychic projection With her 'see what happens' storm-front But the poll workers are the last bastion of Western civ They don't want boors and chimps at the table They'll train you as long as it takes to train you And they'll double check you, and you'll double check each other Using a well-designed double blind workflow process Designed to be boor-proof, which is why it goes slowly Designed to shut out an influx of stupid Because we need to pick better candidates And the candidates should care about people And they should already be doing things for people Which is at least a start, and it can start right here Making the rage monsters pay at the polls They have to pay for their rage mongering outbursts So the poll workers say 'Give it a break; Trust the system' You probably can't build a better system from whole cloth You have to respect the system to know the system Surprise, surprise, that's the way the system works You try to game the system and end up with egg on your face And so you use hints of violence as a gold standard For your nod-and-wink currency of attack and belittlement Thank heavens for valiant vote counters Counting to preserve the vote counting system. Let the lady politician complain about the slow vote counting. Just as she once complained about any kind of streamlining And now she's saying she and her kind will rectify it They'll do away with machines and mail-ins and early voting We will see what kind of un-streamlined streamlining She is going to concoct with a pinch of fairy dust And what cavity she's going to pull it out of Or will she pull it right out of her peevish storm-front That blows behind the knot of her tightened brows?