by J. D. Mackenzie
I miss the honest Senators
the ones from Rome of old
whose coffers swelled with stolen loot
their togas hemmed in gold
Their pay included shameless bribes
like young boys, nymphs and wine
their power stretched across the land
from Carthage to the Rhine
They held some strange religious views
that never seemed to matter
no one cared which gods they served
which vices made them fatter
Their campaigns spoke of honesty
through eloquent debates
informed enough to tell between the
Furies and the Fates
So as this dreadful season ends
I cannot help but note
Christine and Carly don’t have game
and have not earned your vote
J. D. Mackenzie, having patiently observed the psychiatry of the current crop of conservative candidates, now deeply regrets leaving the mental health profession twenty years ago. His poems can be found in The New Verse News and other political publications.
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