Friday, October 01, 2004

In the Sixties, a poetic rebuke of the Swift Boat attack ads

In the Sixties


In the Sixties, certain classes skipped the war and flew in Texas.

Air Guard planes were highly sought—luckily, they could be bought.

Soon famous names from privileged sets were spared the war and offered jets.

Dozens of the oil elite who had cold feet were found a seat!

Thus in the Guard a spot was got for George, despite a lengthy line

A product of the family forge, George took the spot, and served his time

He says in Alabama’s where; (one problem: no-one knew him there).


Its sure that if John Kerry’d asked, he’d probably’ve got a pass.

His options at the time were varied: certainly he could have married

Or have stated, as did Chaney, “Ach, the jungle’s much too rainy.

My priorities are other. Instead of me, please take another.”

Instead he went, and saved a life, although as Brooks now claims,

The life he saved was clearly staged for his political aims.


The Right now fumes! Thick smoky plumes emit from Coulters, Roves and Humes

And Novak! How he huffs and puffs, with anger that will not abate! It seems of late

That Novak’s prate lacks anything apart from hate; and so he lays his victims low

And leaves them in the wind to blow, or simply leaks their secret name

(His latest victim Wilson’s wife, whom we all know as Valerie Plame)


The central question hovers still; Why stewing mad is Crystal (Bill)?

And why is Brit in such a snit? Why throws Gigot a prissy fit?

Why blusters Hannity at length on matters that are not his strength?

And writes long books which seem to call for topping liberals one and all?


Ben Ferguson, a pimply brash, with sharpened tongue does Kerry lash;

“The purple heart could not be fair; for where is Kerry’s wheelchair?”

Where does this venom come from, and the sneaky way with slanders?

(By Jove, just think if Karl Rove’d use his wits to help, like Landers)


Here's my guess of why they cry, why Bill O'Reilly's eyes get styes;

Their heros, in a moral perve, call loud for war but never serve.

What nerve? Demanding newer wars with fierce and fiery metaphors!

Cool veterans of a fight that rages here and there on public stages.


It seems that many don’t quite care, but still the truth cuts quick,

For those who’ve always been the ones with medals three rows thick.

And so we see Bob Dole applying classic Rovian tricks.

(For Bob its simply politics; nothing more than stones and sticks).

“We’re pals,” he says, “Except, you know, I bled much more at Anzio.”


A funny thing; it seems that those who dared to go in Sixty-nine

Are cautious in approaching strife, and doubly of the loss of life;

While those who chose to stay talk loud, of sarin gas and mushroom cloud

Demanding war, a fast attack - we don’t know who – lets hit Iraq.