Showing posts with label pet peeve. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pet peeve. Show all posts

Friday, January 20, 2012

A Pet Peeve of Presidential Proportions

I wish I could tell you that I’ve been absent from the blog because really exciting things had been happening, but the truth is, it’s just life. A half-written essay about the history of my family sits on my computer, abandoned while I worked on edits, did critiquing for the two groups I belong to, sewed one sleeve of lace on the very fancy dress I started as a Christmas gift for my granddaughter, went with said granddaughter to a fashion swap meet in the Chicago suburbs, went with my husband to his cousin’s funeral in Southern Illinois, and spent a day lying on the sofa whining because the room wouldn’t stop spinning.

And this week’s GBE2 subject is pet peeves. Friend, neither of us has the time to go through all my pet peeves! I’ve had many decades to form and collect them. They range from young whippersnappers who call me honey instead of ma’am as befits my rather advanced age to people who misuse the word “comprise.” And in between are people who don’t know the difference between their/there/they’re, to/too/two… Well, you get the idea.

So let’s just settle on one pet peeve, shall we? Given the year, I have to say it’ll be long political campaigns bankrolled by big business in order to elect politicians who make any promise they think will get them elected, knowing full well that they can’t do a darn thing without the OK of all those other politicians who are trying to line their pockets at the expense of the rest of us.

So in that spirit, here’s a poem I wrote to express my bad attitude:

The Woes of  a Presidential Election Year

All hail the coming election spring!
It doth the fruits of politics bring!
Throughout the land, the song of the lyre
Is heard in volume ever higher.
The telephone pole one year of four
Brings campaign poster blossoms forth.

O how happy we all will be
If we can only survive to see
November bring the winds of change
And the political leaflet begin to wane.
The snows of silence will gently fall
Alike on winners—and us losers all.