Priebus Lost: Book 7

THE Debates done, and mild October’s ides
Forgotten, now by cold November winds
Replac’d, and the dread forecast now assum’d
Unstoppable, Clintonian dictate held
For four more years o’er th’unhappy Public
And furthermore unmask’d, no figurehead
Before the People propp’d, but, as throughout
Th’amoral Nineties by th’adulterous
And ribald Bill, enacted openly,
The vitiation of America
Without forbearance by its highest Throne
Made manifest, the Donald, with’ring hope
Of all Republicans to save the States
United from that debasement, four years
Of leftist Malice, and a score beyond
By Nominees to the Judiciary
In bilious fury left to comprehend
Th’embarrassment now imminent, a loss
Of scope calamitous, blow ruinous
To th’Image, since th’Eighties by constant press
And garish tastes constructed, of his great
And peerless brilliance, a Businessman
Unparallell’d, and proven capable
Of constant victory, who thereby would
America’s old Greatness reinstate.
In th’absence of their Candidate, the Right
In panic turn’d to Priebus, treasur’d Chief,
Whose counsel resonant remain’d amongst
The Party’s chaos, and direction sought
Amongst th’anathemic Clime, by the foul
And horrid countenance o’th’ Donald wrought,
And Catechism on how best to face
Th’inquisitive Media, set dead against
Th’insurgent Right and all its crew, desir’d
Receive, if any could be had. To these
Repeated questions answer, noble Reince
The hostile Press himself confronted, wise
That by example he should lead his Peers
And offer reassurance though minute
About Election Day, and on TV
Where re: his Candidate he thus began.

“For Donald Trump, anointed Nominee
O’th’ Party, Vehicle of long-sought Change,
Sole Hope remaining to upend the loath’d
Establishment, and scheming Hillary
Furthermore, noxious counterpart whose Sins
Agglomerate, and Failures multiple
Of leadership, are evermore expos’d,
I give not th’Election for lost. In Trump
I keep my faith; for he doth represent
Something new, crav’d Transition, foreign word
To his Opponent, whose inadequate
And failing Legacy she aims t’extend
To further detriment o’th’ Populace;
And they, I know, in turn shall turn on her
And their fatigue by Ballot manifest,
Th’old Order thus eject, and thrilling New
Install: therefore I still expect, though Polls
Yet otherwise allege, November Eighth
A day of victory for Trump, and all
Republicans, and too America,
Which soon by Trump will be restor’d to past
And cherish’d fortitude, and fin’ly made
As great again as e’er it was before.”
Still in the Party few believed their Chair
And for forc’d Platitude took his address,
E’en ignorant of what in confidence
He had to Trump himself suggested:
Recusal absolute from the Contest,
Meek Surrender; th’advent of Pussygate
Thought too much t’overcome, the Don’s chagrined
Conciliation solitary course
Available to spare his dignity,
And all the Right’s. Yet still one twist remain’d
In this outrageous Contest, e’en before
This final prolongation having dragg’d
Beyond all those before in time both real
And through perception distorted: just ten
Number’d the days until at last the Folk
O’th’ U.S.A. could place their Votes, and end
The sordid Nightmare which ruled dominant
Since 2015 o’er their Consciousness,
(At least until the 2020 Bids
Begin in earnest, which will, let’s be frank,
Be probably some sizable amount
Earlier still), when Correspondence fresh,
Address’d to Congress by th’enormous Head
Of th’F.B.I., the six-foot-eight Comey,
To equal which the tallest N.B.A.
Contestants, though to normal men Titans
Forc’d constantly to stoop as not to scrape
Against the Clouds themselves, would seem not more
Than normal height, reveal’d that th’F.B.I.,
Though they’d before declar’d it done and clos’d,
Had plans t’unseal again and continue
Th’Investigation long and arduous
Into th’outstanding scandal of the Left:
That Hillary—in affirmation clear
Of th’allegations long unceasing lobb’d
By all the Right that she deserv’d no trust,
For foul incompetence defin’d her time
In public service, and too Crookery
Precisely executed to enrich
Both her and her unfaithful Husband Bill—
Had stor’d away on servers insecure
Her electronic Post while she had charge
O’th’ State Department ‘neath Obama—he
Thus implicated too, to no surprise
Amongst the Right, who long decri’d his Haught
And arrogant Demeanor, which combin’d
With his experience in government
Or lack thereof, had birth’d such outrages
As this, and many more besides, though those,
Not pertinent to this account, are left
For other times—and thus expos’d th’Info
Most Classified o’th’ U.S.A. to eyes
Inquisitive and hostile the World o’er,
And plac’d our Troops and Agents in all Camps
And Theatres worldwide in peril undue.
Though th’F.B.I. had previously affirm’d
That these Republican concerns contain’d
No argument sufficient to charge Crime
Against the Clintons, rather Negligence,
Though gross, their vice preponderant, this fresh
Discovery compelled their chair to act
And notify the Legislature fast
That th’F.B.I. had stumbled on some new
And possibly significant Emails
Not found before on Clinton’s server-drives,
And would unseal anew their Inquiry
In case fresh Evidence might overturn
Their previous assessment. At this news
The mainstream News in its despondent sleep,
Expecting nothing new to shake the Race
Into proximity, no impetus provide
For some new flood of eyeballs to their sites
And to their pages, in a flash awoke,
And bellow’d loud upon their fronts a stark
And catastrophic shift, a jolt assur’d
To unseat everything, and tighten up
The Contest long assum’d to soon enthrone
The Democrat as President. For days
Such stories roil’d across both page and screen,
A week of such, until at last, two days
Before th’Election, once more Comey wrote
To clarify his findings, and report
That this new inquest no more wrongdoing
Uncover’d than the last: for nothing was
This final hope to undermine Clinton
And stop her coronation. This last hope dash’d,
The Right resign’d itself to four more years
Without th’Executive in its control,
Though privately its Candidate still clung
To some resentful spark though dim, and rag’d
To Priebus his convictions: “Reince, it’s just
So unfair. I’m getting such great crowds, they’re
Not showing—they just talk about how I’m
Going to lose. So unfair. They should be
Ashamed—CNN, MSNBC—
They’ve treated me so unfairly. The polls,
I’m doing better than they say, much better.
But they just show the ones where I’m losing
To Crooked Hillary. It’s ridiculous!
They want her to win. They just make up—they’ll
Make up whatever for her. And she’s got
Obama, who should—he should be back in
The White House, fixing Obamacare,
Not campaigning for her. They say—a lot
Of people are saying it, I heard it
The other day—they say I’m doing better
Than that. They say I’m going to win. But the
Fake news won’t tell you that. Once I’m President,
I’ll get them back, believe me.” Next to him
Sat Priebus silently, who’d found at last
No answer, no speech, no inspiration
To ease that melancholy Clime, indeed
Harbor’d e’en thrills at thought of loss, that spar’d
Would be the G.O.P. from Trump’s impudent
And uninform’d administration, free
To choose a candidate better desir’d
And more electable the next time ‘round,
With Hillary unlikely to restore
A reputation which a Narrative
Three decades in the making had befoul’d:
And with at last no words to give,
A solitary hand he proffer’d forth
And plac’d upon the shoulder of the Don,
And this depress’d and dismal answer gave:
“I know you will, Donald.” Thus the two men
Resign’d themselves to wait for Tuesday next,
And bear the will harsh of th’Electorate.
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