The Cheney---A Parody Poem

Submitted by Unknown

Tuesday, 8 February 2005

The Cheney

My Apologies to Edgar Allen Poe and The Raven

Once upon a World Day dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of Iraqi war,

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of someone madly rapping, rapping at the Oval Door.

" 'Tis Dick Cheney", I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door;

Only him, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I reply, it was in the hot July ,

And each separate whizzing rocket wrought its wrath upon the desert floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow

From my briefcase of sorrow, sorrow for the fake, lied war

For the dead and radiant soldier whom the angels named “He's Bolder”

Nameless now--forevermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple heart

Thrilled me---filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my brain, I stood repeating,

" 'Tis a Chickenhawk entreating entrance at my chamber door,

Some great ogre bearing presents at my chamber door?

This it is, and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew weaker; hesitating then to speak, here,

"Sir," said I, "(or Upperclassman?) truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is, I was napping, and so intently you came rapping,

And so rudely you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I’m sure I heard you." Here I opened wide the door;---

Quiet there, and nothing more.

Deep into the vacuum peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word,

That was whispered, to Pat Lehey, “F*** You!”

Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber gasping, all my soul within me laughing,

Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before,

"Surely," said I, "surely, that is something at my window lattice.

Let me see, then, what there at is, and this mystery implore,

Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore.

" 'Tis the devil and nothing more."

Open here I flung the curtain when the oiled Halliburton,

In there stepped a snickering VP, of the gastly days of yore.

Not the least obedience made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But with a sneer across his face, pointed toward my chamber door.

Pointed upon a bust of Monica, just above the Oval door,

Pointed, and grinned, and nothing more.

Then this ugly gent beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance he wore,

"Though thy head be bald and shaven," I said, "aren’t sure no Statesman,

Ghastly, grim, and mouthy stealer, wandering from the Texas shore.

Tell me what the lordly name is on the Gulf Coast’s oil shore."

Quoth the VP, "F*** them some more."

Much I marvelled his ungainly foul words that I heard so plainly,

Though their utterance little meaning, little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with flipping birds inside the chamber door,

No bird nor beasts upon the sculptured bust above my chamber door,

With such name as “Clinton’s Whore”.

But the VP, stepping boldly on the placid straw, spoke only

Those two words, as if his soul in that phrase he did outpour.

Nothing further then he uttered; not a heartbeat then he fluttered;

Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have swore before;

On the morrow you will leave me, as other Chickenhawks have gone before."

Then the VP said, "F*** You” some more.

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so abruptly spoken,

"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is it’s only shock and awe,

Caught from some unhappy master, who in Rumsfeld’s blessed disaster

Followed fast and followed faster, till his weapons bore,---

Till the dirges of the country that melancholy burden bore

Cried, “Stop this silly, silly war!”

But the Chickenhawk, still beguiling all those bad words and still smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned saddle for my seat, from out the closet door.

Then, upon that velvet cushion, I betook myself to push him

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous Veep of yore --

With his grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous words he swore,

Spoken in croaking "Like I said before--"

Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllables expressing

Of the foul, those fiery words now burned into my empty fore’.

This and more I sat relaxing, simply letting my gas passing,

On the saddle’s velvet lining that this Cowboy gloated o'er,

But whose velvet bloodred lining with the lamplight shining o'er

Dick shall speak, ah, nevermore!

Then, me thought, the air grew denser, perfumed from my unseen scent, sir,

Swirled by fairies whose gold wings touched upon the straw shorn floor.

"Gays!" I cried, "thy God hath lent me-- by your daughter, he hath sent me

Dysfunctional, Lesbian Mary from the child of Cheney!

Quaff, O, quaff your kind betrays me , and forget that lost girl, Cheney!

Quoth this President, "Not in ‘04!"

“Betrayer”, said I, "thing of evil!--albatross, still, if bird or devil!

Whether Kerry sent, or whether Edwards tossed her here ashore,

Desperate I’m undaunted, in that desert land we‘ve bombed and--

On this home by terror haunted--tell me truly, I implore:

Is there--is there oil in Baghdad?--tell me--tell me I implore!"

Quoth the Cowboy, "We’ll need more!"

"Blaspheme!" said I, "thing of evil--albatross still, if bird or devil!

By that heaven that bends above us--by God to whom I still don’t pray,

Tell this soul with religious fervor, if, within the distant future

You shall show two tainted maidens, whom one the Press prints ---Mary! Gay!

One in satin, one in batten, whom the Queers shout---Marry, Gays!

Quoth the Pres, “No F***ing Way!”

"Be that word our sign of parting, Veep or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting--

Get thee back into your place of hiding and lay low, for I’m despising.

Leave no tape recording as a token of these words our mouths have spoken,

Leave my Holiness unbroken! -- now, hang that new bust above my door!

Take thy pacer from out thy heart, and take thy mask form off--we part!”

Quoth Lil‘ Georgie, “And, forget we swore."

But, the V. P., always glaring, still is staring, still is staring,

At the new bust of Padilla’s just above the chamber door;

Cheney’s eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming.

And the lamplight o'er him steaming throws his shadow gov’ment on my floor.

And my fate from out that shadow that directs me out the door

“I Shall be President---Nevermore!”

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