( © 1980)

Democrats, its been
           Near four years since, 
           I went to the peoples '77 inauguration
           To see the peoples President.

           At that peoples inauguration,
           I heard the peoples say;
           They were going
           To spend
           My money
           On the peoples.
           Because the peoples need it.

           I left that peoples inauguration
	   With a Private headache.
           I headed for
           The peoples Presidential party.
           NOT my Party, but the peoples party.

           At that peoples party
	   I met the same peoples.
           They were (still) talking;
           About spending
           My money
           On the peoples.
           Because the peoples need it.
           I left that peoples party
           With a private pain.
           I headed for
           The farm.
           NOT the peoples farm, but MY farm.

           I picked up my hammer and sigh;
           To clear the weeds
           To build a new barn
           To be NOT filled
           With the grain
           From the cleared land.
           Because the peoples need it.
           I dropped my hammer and my sigh
           And picked up my fishing pole and pen
           To write a poem - A PEOPLES POEM -
           Before I ever worked again. 

           She said:
               Because the peoples need it
               Is the only justification
               The peoples need
           If this be true
           Let them clear the weeds.

           I still don't fully believe it
           I think I'll return to that farm,
           To pick up my hammer,
           And finish building that barn.
           What will it take to convince me?
           If after doubling my efforts
           I have two empty barns
           Then...I'll leave...
           That GODDAMN farm.

Republicans, and so it goes
           Now near four years later
           In need of a rest,
           Before I finish erecting that barn,
           I plan to attend another yarn.
           Before I am accused of cynacism
           Let me say:
           I think it will be the same
           Though in a different way.
           Somewhat like the way
           We narrow our brows
           At our grandparents wasting
           Of our nows.

           Each time they changed
           The old worn out sish-boom-blahs
           To the promises
           Of many new rah-rah-rahs.
           But this time around,
           If we look closely,
           We will see our childrens' frowns.
           And when they ask:  Why...?
           Did you not see
           The forest fire
           In the trees.

           Will we say?
           THEY did it AGAIN!
           Though they held the tune
           They changed the words:

           WE are Republicans
           WE never die
           WE spell peoples
           C  O  U  N
                           R   Y

Republicrats, though I could end it here
           I cannot stop
           Something emerges
           That could destroy the crop.

           The common weeds grow thicker
           I build my barn
           With these now, I can contend
           And fear no harm.

           It is a distant sight that scares me.
           Besides those weeds against the grains,
           There appears to be,
           Newer strains.

           They have floppy leaves,
           Entangling shoots,
           And stubborn trunks
           On reddish roots.

           They are -I fear -
           Those ancient hybridizations,
           With their blood thirsty roots
           Entrenched against eradication.

           My only hope, is to hurry
           To ask my pesticide suppliers
           To re-invent a new form of DDT.

           One that will protect me
           From that still distant
         imMORAL MAJORITY.
Libertarians, Will it never end? 
           For me, thanks to you 
           It has.

           I watched your Satellite Celebrations,
           With Hope - that vapour Gold -
           Once again filling my lungs,
           With Pride and Revelations.

           With that now,
           I read my future Almanacs
           Seeing smiles printed in farmers eyes
           And Triumph stamped upon their backs.

           They will plant their new seeds
           With a knowledge that is true:
           They are good farmers
           Boy!  What a Harvest awaits '92!
           Enough for now
           Its back to work.
           Barns - Quite Unlike farmers -
           Do not erect themselves.