pomes of buddy don: The Craven

The Craven
(with apologies to Edgar Allen Poe)

Once upon a newsday showing on TV the pundits glowing
Over many a quaint and curious question from us all –
While I viewed it nearly sleeping, frustrated almost to weeping
At the strange responses coming, coming like a newsy scrawl
That was scrambled, jumbled, jangled till I could not read it all
“Perhaps,” I thought, “the font’s too small.”

Ah, distinctly I can see it: Alfredo, he wished to flee it,
Dodging the interogation like it was a funeral pall –
Senators, they sought an answer, but the AG was a dancer,
Dancing round the questions asked him like a tumbler on a ball,
Hiding honesty he owed us, with the words we hate to scrawl:
Quoth the craven, “Don’t recall.”

These two words he kept repeating, like a lost lamb bleating, bleating,
As if wolves were threatening to beat and eat him in a brawl –
Could there be no truth inside him? or no laws to stand astride him
As he showed the world a strain of pure unprecedented gaul?
Or were we to sit and gaze, amazed and yet still held in thrall?
Quoth the craven, “Don’t recall”

One could write a thousand verses and not cover all the curses
That our very founding fathers would so horribly appall –
Did they risk their reputations, lives and fortunes in creation
Of our nation just so such evil misfortune could befall
Us in a time of war, a time when good men should stand tall?
Quoth the craven, “Don’t recall.”

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