OK then, cowboy poetry about cowboys may not fit well, so here's a shot of cowboy poetry that's not about a cowboy:
Hillary's Staffer
The clock was buzzing and Imus was fussing
and she hit the Sleep Button cussing.
"Damn, overslept again," she said to the appliance,
which announced 9:30 in timid defiance.
Dragging the rest, flat feet slapped their way to the sink
as the mirror opined, "no hair or makeup today, I don't think."
Which was ok with her because to her feminist side,
attractiveness and conformity she couldn't abide.
She had a face like a camel's butt and a law degree from Yale,
And she knows she's much better than any equivalent male.
Too superior to follow societal norms,
She learned her manners in Weslian dorms.
Two aspirin quickly slipped across her tongue covered with slime
as appeasement for last night's two bottles of wine.
A mouthful of Scope was swished in that fog
40% alcohol, it was swallowed as the hair of the dog.
A fat butt flopped on the toilet to pee
gave cause to reflect on the good times at Wesley.
She looked at those legs, chubby and covered with hair,
And though how foolish were those who used Nair.
Dressed now, she made a new path to the stove
through the trash on the floor to the kitchen alcove.
She burned the toast and broke the yolks, but the OJ seemed fine,
"Not a problem," she thought, "cooking isn't a forte of mine."
Stumbling down to the street hoping to catch a ride,
she was ignored by cabbies who knew her, they had too much pride.
In disgust of the public she finally traipsed
to the corner bus stop where the ride couldn't escape.
"I deserve a car and driver," she belligerently fumed,
"it's those damn Republicans," she wrongly assumed.
To those who knew her, it was clear as a bell,
She got no car because of her smell.
Finally at work, she snapped at the guard
who politely asked if she'd show her ID card.
"I'm a key staffer, I have the card but they shouldn't ask,
superior people like me are above that menial task."
Sweaty from the ordeal of getting to work,
she flopped at her desk, ignoring a clerk.
The odor that rose from her body did loom,
so she sprayed the office with lots of perfume.
Now settled in and ready for the daily gruel,
she yelled at a male secretary, called him a fool.
CIA, BIA, OSHA and the organizational chart,
SCOTUS and POTUS think they don't stink when they fart.
She pushed a pencil, she was too superior to type,
choosing bills on the floor Hillary would find ripe.
Unbidden, thoughts percolated into her conscious perforce,
like, "why did my useless husband demand a divorce?"
In the office an hour, it was about time for lunch,
it would be good to escape the daily work crunch.
But the phone on her desk rang and was insistent,
She couldn't ignore it, it was just too persistent.
Finally answering, it was just another stupid lay man,
asking for help about the latest gun ban.
Knowing that owning a gun should be a crime,
She told him to stick it where the sun doesn't shine.
She had lunch alone, all colleagues had an excuse,
for eating elsewhere, good reasons profuse.
By herself at the table, she looked at her plate,
and wondered if any would notice her weight.
Finishing lunch, she went back to her desk,
Dumped some papers in the trash and sat down to rest.
Stretching and yawning, most pleased with her day,
she packed her purse, thinking she'd well earned her pay.
Throwing a hard look at Hillary's other minions
she ignored any and all their opinions.
As the door closed behind her, she could hear their laughter
but she really didn't care, SHE was Hillary's top staffer! |
