We band of brothers:
This day is call’d the feast of Reconciliation.
He that votes aye this day, and comes home
To face the slings and arrows and pitchforks of the town-hall mob,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam’d,
And rouse him at the name of Reconciliation.
He shall have returned to DC on this day, and have the last laugh,
And a seven-figure sinecure on K Street.
In his stately paneled office with Potomac view
He will yearly on the vigil feast his lobbying-staff,
And say ‘To-morrow is Health Care Day.’
A PowerPoint graph of his Gallups he will show,
And say ‘These wounds I had on Reconciliation day.’
The Battle of Agincourt it ain’t.
Don’t normally do this during the day but couldn’t resist
Once more onto the floor, dear friends, once more;
Or close the nation’s ears up with our whining.
During Republican presidencies there’s nothing so becomes a man or womyn
As procedural obstruction:
But when the blast of statism blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the lemming;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with feigned outrage;
…
The Battle of Agincourt it ain’t.
Maybe we should call it The Battle of the Ragin’ Cowbell.
Ole’ Will is laughing so hard…