by Earl J. Wilcox
Here in the great state of South Carolina---first to secede
from the union prior to that late unfortunate incident---
we again find ourselves inundated by Philistines.
Our little southern entity is overrun with candidates.
Night and day we are being besieged with door knockers,
phone calls, poll takers, party regulars and irregulars---
every ilk, color, and breed of candidates the world can imagine.
Just today I stopped at a light in our little burg and was
overwhelmed by three or four leeches before I could move on.
Our land is flooded with Oprahites, Paulites, Hillaryites,
and Edwardians, a few Obamaians, to say nothing of
Thompson the Terrible, and Huck’s Hallelujahs. The Mitt
and Cain camps are fully engaged in a life and death struggle.
We have stopped praying for rain to end our drought and are now
in a full twenty-four seven mode for the election to come quickly. Amen.
Earl J. Wilcox founded The Robert Frost Review, which he edited for more than a decade. His poetry was recently nominated for a Pushcart Prize.