Still Working on My Dirge

The Butcher of Queens 

Anno Covidi I & II

Anno I

We're on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway.

Driving at a pretty good clip.

The Driver knows the destination.

He's told us where he was going all along.

We kept not listening well-enough

And we kept forgetting.

Maya Angelou got it right:

When someone tells you where they're driving?

Believe 'em the first time.

The Butcher is going to Tulsa

And Jacksonville and ... 

And everywhere else COVID can go.

The Butcher's been driving, now.

Five years ... 24-7.

While we're driving on the BQE

People are dying in droves at St. Elizabeth's

And in the West 

And the South 

And everywhere else?

Drips and drabs, but goin' strong.

The Driver told us all along.

From the beginning.

He told us where he was headed.

Too bad: Hearing Aids aren't covered by Medicare.

The Driver told us

That giving people jobs

Was a sacrifice.

He told us, too, that

"Soldiers who get captured?

They're fools."

He said it:

"I am America.

America is First.

I never get captured."

We're driving on the BQE.

The Blaupunkt brings us Jared's voice.

"Nothing is yours anymore.

Nothing is the People's

Not Of. 

Not By. 

Not For.

Get your own ventilators!

These are ours, not yours anymore."

We're on the BQE and

We pretend to be surprised.

When the Butcher of Queens is driving

And Aunt Sadie is dead in a freezer truck.

While we're being driven on his BQ Expressway.

We're sittin' in the back seat

Together but alone …

While Jared is singing on the radio

And the Bible thumpers are calling him God.

And the Black Men are dead in the Street. 

And the Stock Market is Drunk. 

And the Butcher walks about with No Mask. 

Oh, my ...

The pace is picking up, now.

Heading down the East Coast.

Pennsylvania, Delaware and Maryland 

The Carolinas, Georgia and the Sunshine State.

The Butcher is still driving.

Says he may not give up the wheel.

Laughs

Says

No one else is licensed to drive.

We're coronating Alabama, now, 

He promises to drive close to the Wall.

Breakneck speed.

Tach touches 9,000. 

Tires screeching. 

Passengers scared but the Butcher is yelling:

"The Wall is beautiful ..,

Realmente bastante hermosa."

"We won't hit Louisiana, again.

Got'em good the first time.

We're headin' straight for Texas and Arizona.

Never been a more beautiful wall!

Yee-ha!"

Truth is ...

Nobody coulda kept the Butcher in Queens.

Well, maybe Turtle McCurdle?

But most of us know:

His toast is buttered on both sides.

Okay. 

Not buttered. 

Just bathed in Lard and Pork Grease! 

And the Butcher drives on.

"The Northwest already got fried.

They want masks?

I'm sending masked troops up there.

Tonto and my Loan arrangers.

Wilbur, Barr and Minuchin.

They got it covered.

That'll keep'em busy.

California, here I come!"

And still, I can hear

The Bible thumpers calling him God.

Still, you can see

The Black Men dead in the Street ... 

You can still smell the Pepper Gas

And the sweat of the troops from nowhere.

And in the Bars 

And on the Beaches?

The Butcher's Elves dance about with No Mask

To the rhythms of Evagrius Ponticus' Seven Deadly Sins

Of Pride, Greed, Wrath, and Envy,

Of Lust, Guttony and Sloth 

And the Butcher of Queens?

He remains at large. 

Anno II

Stop the presses.

The Butcher of Queens

Has lost that lost-looking gleam

Of a little rich kid

Who would be both King and Queen.

Alas, he has come to rest

At Walter Reed.

No more rallies for now.

No more debates

No more meetings with the Fake Press.

Has the Butcher 

Met his match? No less!

The Proud Boys gather and proclaim:

"Long Live the Butcher!

Long Live the Butcher of Queens."

How we miss the halcyon days

Being driven in his back seat.

Our heads snapping back

As the Butcher regaled us

With the loveliest of truths

And with Daytona Beach speed

24/7 ... Butcher, Butcher, Butcher!

"America First!

Best Economy Ever!

None of the Good die young.

And Grandma's had a long enough life!

Amen!"

The word goes out among the Brotherhood

Christie is down and KellyAnn, too.

The Mrs is sick 

But she'll be better and soon. 

And he entertains them with a tune:

 "I'm flush with hydroxychloriquin

And I've flushed with Chlorox

I shoot it up

Right outa the Box.

Remdesivir is mine

And my docs say I'll be fine

Stay Cool, my Friends

And bring AR's to the polls."

Meanwhile and still

Back at the Oval

Little Mikey Pence

Is on the Fence.

"Do I dare take my shot

And get rid of that bloviating Bot.

The Amendment, the 25th

will guide me though the darkness.

Mother will let me seize the Presidency

If I'm a good boy and say please.

Please, Mother."

But we, the passengers

Minus the 210,000 who got out of the back seat

What do we Evangelists do?

Without you, Oh, Great Butcher?

Who will lock her up?

Who will grab pussy? If not you?

Who will lie to us so beautifully?

So meaningfully?

Who will tell us what is real?

Or whether it's OK to feel

for those who might replace us?

What if the new guy

Decides to choose the Jews?

How will we ever know what's True?

Without you?

Who, I ask: Who? 

Will tell us to "stand back and stand by" 

For you?

If  wearing a sequined Johnny Coat

And a matching shimmering mask, 

You've been flushed down the Golden loo?"