With each passing day, the campaign trail becomes a less and less pleasant place. Personal attacks and personal business made public. This volatile climate has inspired Patrick Vogelpohl, Politypop’s very own staff poet, to reach out to the frontrunner in the form of an open poem.
You’re chasing a stupid job, bossman.
Red tape like streamers
shooting from the walls and ceiling
like a bad office birthday soiree—sit at your desk
and you can’t see the couch.
Not even a lateral move. Just a title.
And now the company wants to
look at the fat, sassy mouse from Georgia?
The guy forced into retirement?
More wives than Big Love?
Let the bastards have him.
Forget the interviews, the handshakes,
the presentations, all the jabs from
every mouthbreather with a tumblr.
You’re an earner. You get the Glengarry leads.
Take the missus back to Belmont.
Or head up to New Hampshire with
the boys, their wives, their kids.
Get snowmobiles for the whole damn family
Head into the fresh powder happy. Smart.
Your smile made permanent, the engine the only
noise as you dash north into the white.