The Celebration

Where there’s an election, there’s a celebration
of success yet to be born or achieved,
knights and princesses dancing in their regal attires
to victories claimed that are never won.

Scaffolds erected for the former nobility,
whether they are guilty or not,
because executions allow the blood to cover
what will be tomorrow’s mistakes.

We get drama and pathos,
action in words, tear streams of speeches,
lies to blindfold to the exchanging of cash in bags,
marching in song around a flagpole,
on top of poor they want to forget,
history books rewritten to insert
the future only existing in a vision totally out of focus.

What a glorious spectacle besets the display,
pride and passion so well acted,
perfection air brushed by media spin doctors,
so nobody will notice the flaws.

For one moment in time
patriotism is center stage as a sick comedy,
wanting us to believe on this occasion
a true sage of solutions
will walk across the public stage
and manage to build a utopia on the dump.

Then after the pomp and circumstance operas,
comes the parade of booths wearing tax shackles,
so many having fallen asleep during the party
they never make it to the ballot invitation.

Afterwards we live with the hangovers
pocketbooks getting the tab,
not exactly what was intended
as meaning for the bill of rights.

It’s a process, a platform,
the boundless panoplies of politics,
served as entrees at democracy’s tainted buffet.