The Ravin’ – A Political Parody

The Ravin’

by Edgar Adlib Poe

Once upon a campaign dreary, while I taxed the weak and weary,
Overlooking many a quaint and curious volumes of Biblical lore,
While I plotted, nearly laughing, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my Senate chamber door.
” ‘Tis some citizen,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door;
Only this, and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate Bagger member wrought its spite upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished for sorrow; vainly Dems had sought to borrow
From Rove’s book we increased sorrow, sorrow for the lost class war.
For the rare and Reaganite Made Men with the angled game, class war.
Nameless here forevermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of our people’s hurtin’
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic tickles never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
” ‘Tis some citizen entreating entrance at my chamber door,
Some late citizen entreating entrance at my chamber door.
This it is, and nothing more.”

Presently my scent grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is, I was crapping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you.” Here I opened wide the door;—
Hippies there, and nothing more.

Deep into the hippies peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing
Doubting, scheming schemes no mortals ever dared to scheme before;
But the drum circle was unbroken, and the protest gave no token,
And the only word there spoken were the whispered words,
class war. This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the words,
“Class war” Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my greed within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before,
“Surely,” said I, “surely, that is something at my window lattice.
Let’s not see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery ignore.
Let my brain be still a moment, and this mystery ignore.
” ‘Tis the people, and nothing more.”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately hippy, of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But with mien of Depp or Clooney, leaned against my chamber door.
Perched beside a bust of Reagan, just beside my chamber door,
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony youth beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be long and crazy thou,” I said, “art sure no lazy,
Vegan, slim, and youthful hippy, wandering from the nightly square.
Tell me what thy hipster name is at this Night’s Plutocratic back door.”
Quoth the hippy, “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil–prophet still, if Dem or devil!
By that heaven that bends above us–by that God we both ignore–
Tell this soul with sorrow missing, if, without the distant hissing,
It shall clasp a sainted mission, whom the Koch Boys name Class War–
Clasp a rare and Reaganite mission, whom the Koch Boys name Class War?
Quoth the hippy, “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign of parting, dude or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting–
“Get thee back into the Prius and this Night’s Plutocratic whore!
Leave no joint roach as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my greediness unbroken! — quit the bust beside my door!
Take thy Tweet from out my heart, and take thy beads from off my door!”
Quoth the hippy, “Nevermore.”

And the hippy, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
By the ragged bust of Reagan just beside my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a voter’s that is dreaming.
And the lamplight o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be re-elected—nevermore!

HAPPY HALLOWEEN FROM THE PLANET!!!