The Song of the Donkey

Pish! Our guns may be silent,
But our koan reverberates.
We’re too smart to be violent,
Too right [sic] to be interested.
We speak with our mouillé words
To our constituency,
And peddle our kitsch, our swords,
At two-hundred clichés per minute.
We make polydactyl promises
(Six-fifths as large as our resources).
We laud the dishabille, prick the disabled,
And sneer at our proboscidean counterparts.
We love to raise taxes
To spike up the price of congou,
But don’t you dare bring up the Boston Tea Party,
Or we’ll accuse you of politicizing a national tragedy.
If our perpetual satori doesn’t impress you all,
Then vote for us because we don’t want the wall.
We predicted the past, so we’re the ones to call!