No new horror can be more terrible than the daily torture of the commonplace.
-- H.P. Lovecraft
The werewolves and the vampires were locked in a fight.
Both wanted all the power to keep out all the light.
Where werewolves found their pleasure, vampires found their pain; When one was bathed in sunshine, the other bathed in rain.
(OK, OK. I know vampires and werewolves don’t like sunshine, but I like that verse. This is an allegory about Republicans and Democrats anyway.)
The leaders were so noxious, their minions were so tame; They followed them like lemmings, they all seemed just the same.
I had no allegiance; I had no way to know which side was truly righteous and knew just where to go.
Trump bragged and he boasted, and danced upon the stage.
And AOC, she mocked him and said, “Please, act your age.”
I was loyal to neither, as I faced risks from both, but I was only striving for more financial growth.
And I was then recruited by both teams in the game, and promised all the trappings of wealth and love and fame.
I asked the palest vampires if stories were all true, that they were just bloodsuckers from states that were all blue.
“Blood must be ours to govern, if we are to prevail against the vilest werewolves, who want us all to fail.”
Zohran P. Mamdani wants me to forget some people who did something, but I ain’t ready yet.
Zohran P. Mamdani now wants to run New York.
He eats his rice with his hands; let’s give the man a spork.
Public transportation and childcare will be free.
But someone has to pay for it; that someone might be me.
But I then found the werewolves, strutting on Fox News.
Sure, they sounded clever, and begged me to choose: They claimed to be much wiser, and as honest as our Abe.
The females were so gorgeous, the prettiest of babes.
Sweet-talked, tried and tempted, I nearly caved right in.
They seemed much less offensive, but when I thought again.
The werewolves, as I noticed, were callous and so mean.
I wasn’t sure that I had liked all of what I’d seen.
ICE agents soon would grab me, before I could even run.
They sent me down to Cuba and that was not no fun.
I stole myself a trumpet and learned to play some jazz.
The Cubans then sent me to ICE’s Alcatraz.
I broke out the next morning and fled into the glades.
No gators came to chase me, but energy soon fades.
I hitchhiked up to Naples and then Fort Myers Beach, and rode along with Haitians until I finally reached the outskirts of old Siloam and hopped down off the truck.
I caught a ride with Uber, can you believe my luck?
Due south, the driver took me, and soon I made it home.
But vampires were now in my house; no room for Michael Stone.
And what to my wondering eyes did appear, But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.
Now, Dasher, now Dancer, now Prancer and Vixen!
On Comet, on Cupid, on Donder and Blitzen!
(Oops, wrong poem and wrong holiday).
Now that I was homeless, I moved out to L.A.
All the preening werewolves had all just moved away.
But now I’ve found a new tribe to finally call my own.
We don’t do much voting, but I don’t walk alone.
I stagger, and I stumble, I drool and growl and snarl.
And one day I shall dine on Rick and Lori and Carl.
Yes, I’m now a zombie, and it’s not for the meek.
But at least I’ve got some clothes on, not stoned on Portland streets.
I don’t think Trump’s a fascist; I don’t think he’s a pig.
And that’s enough for vampires to hate me mighty big.
While I don’t mind the hatred, there’s one thing that I dread: The rhythm of this poem might never leave my head.
Or yours!
Selah.