We talk about Barack’s charisma, style,
and rhetoric, his new approach to politics,
all the young voters he attracted. We note
that Hillary took too long to find her voice,
never explained her vote for the Iraq war,
couldn’t keep her husband under control.

The truth is, Obama’s message wasn’t better.
Her campaign wasn’t weaker. He won an even
race by going after caucuses she ignored
and recognizing delegates would be allocated
proportionately. We don’t want to admit it,
but he outsmarted our best white politician.

Obama won primaries by attracting
new voters with a campaign for change.
Why embrace old Bush ideas now
and become a typical politician?

Funding faith-based organizations,
immunizing telephone companies,
and refining troop withdrawal plans,
sound disturbingly McCainlike.

If Barack keeps moving away
from the “yes we can” chanters
there won’t be any real distinction
between and him and his opponent.

Maybe it’s all part of a new plan.
During the lull in his campaign perhaps
he had time to read Business Week,
and changed his mind about winning.

Democrats came together,
holding hands and making nice.
Sweet words flowed midst
patting, kissing, raising arms.

She built a bridge to unity.
He helped, but added graffiti.
Bragged his universal health
insurance would be optional.

Republicans scoffed, but
cable news seemed satisfied the
speeches and choreography could
fuel weeks of wild speculation.

Customer service people
we can’t understand
enhance efficiency.

Business calls layoffs
productivity improvements.

Higher co pays for doctors
are cost reductions.

Foreclosures serve to
clean up the balance sheet.

Free trade rewards us with
cheap products at Wal-Mart

Pumping our own gas
is the first step toward
energy independence.

Cable news switched to Washington
for a news conference they thought
would be super delegates declaring.
Turns out it was just senators talking
about a bill to slow global warming.

“Sorry,” the anchor said, “we’ll watch
this, and return if they get around to
super delegates.” Judicious editing and
concentration on the important explains
why our electorate is so well informed.

With hindsight one could see
“hard-working white men”
might vote for a black man
rather than a white woman.

Is it safe to assume the same
guys will choose a black man
over a white man? Remember,
they gave Bush a second term.

Barack might win if Hillary
runs for vice president and wives
and mothers nag those men into
voting for them both this time.

A year ago Howard Dean said his party’s
presidential wannabes were all impressive.
Now it’s down to the two best fund raisers,
each supported by half the voters. For many
in each group McCain is their second choice.

Primaries may stimulate local business,
increase audiences for cable news, and make
consultants wealthy, but they didn’t select
a consensus candidate this time. This system
produced a potential Democratic disaster.

Historically the best contenders were chosen
by politicos in smoke-filled rooms from known
available talent, not by the electorate from self-
selected campaigners. Clearly, breathing smoke
is better for nominating than blowing smoke.

Tornados,
cyclones,
earthquakes,
wild fires
can’t distract
cable news
from their
Primary
chore.

Friendly Fire, I think,
burns like any other.
Flames are no less searing
when ignited by a brother.

Joan Hoagland Milder

Iowa and New Hampshire choose first
because voters get to know the candidates.
Apparently that doesn’t always work.

After almost a year of getting acquainted,
Democrats swung from Clinton to Obama
and back again in less than a week.

Of course they are very much alike,
except for age, sex, race, experience, and
Obama’s for change. Clinton already did that.

I think change is worrisome. Scary at worst,
problematic at best. The only change I know
that’s always for the better is diapers.

The cat got stuck in my recliner.
It took all my strength to get off
without crushing him, so I bought
a new chair that couldn’t trap him,
could massage me ― frequently.

Then a pain went down my leg.
I stopped massaging, took pills
and walked sparingly with a cane
while the bulging discs in my spine
relaxed and stopped pinching nerves.

In a few months the pain subsided,
but my arthritic joints have stiffened,
and I am frequently out of breath.
Instead of helping me walk,
the cane now keeps me from falling.

Test after test finds my heart and lungs
function at the low edge of normal.
The only firm diagnosis is sleep apnea.
That doesn’t cause shortness of breath,
but treating it might eventually help.

So I sleep in a Darth Vader mask hooked
to a pump. I feel strange, look weird,
but awake refreshed. My stamina
may be improving. When dressing,
I don’t rest as long between socks.

Medical science probably won’t
find the cause of my problem ― beyond
being overweight, out of shape, and old.
Rather than accept those lame excuses,
I have settled for blaming the cat.

The attack on Iraq promoted the health
of the armament industry. It did so well,
contractors and manufacturers who profit
from war want to keep it going forever.

Always the faithful servant, Bush dedicates
his final year in office to writing slogans
and constructing deals to make it difficult
for a successor to bring the troops home.

But his plan will fail, if, as expected, he
turns the job over to people with all the
the competence of his usual crew ―
They will do way too little, way too late.

It was fun bashing an inept Bush,
stumbling from mishap to error to war,
but he morphed from vacuity to villainy.

He started as a cheerleader urging
the fearful and the righteous to seize
government, ended running a soup kitchen.

He serves supporters friendly judges and
regulators. Contributors receive bid-free
contracts, cheap labor and tax breaks.

Everyone else gets fantasy: Clear Skies,
Clean Air, No Child Left Behind. Bush
first mangled English, then destroyed it.

Now that the country is conquered and fed,
he can polish his legacy by not bombing Iran.
History can then say, “he avoided one disaster.”

The pundits all say
we must elect people
to bring us together.

That’s bull.

Right wing nuts
created this mess.

Left wing nuts
won’t fix it.

We need leadership
from the middle.

Kick the nuts
out of government.

Publicly finance the
election of politicians
business won’t buy
and interest groups
won’t support.

Rejects are the folks
we should elect.

It’s hard to be a Democrat.
Most of our primary candidates
won’t rush to leave Iraq,
or give up contributions
from hedge fund plutocrats.

The liberal party has become
kids grabbing snacks from
the candy store, just like
Republicans ― but with
appropriate new deal decor.

The party of the middle class
kicked its voters in the ass,
and trashed its principles, and
no top tier hopeful seems truly
willing to clean-up Bush’s mess.

Long before true dawn, Sandy
uncurls from behind my knees and
stretches like a Muslim at prayer.

Then, purring loudly, she marches
up my side, each paw pressing a ton
per square foot, and sits on my ribs.

“Time to go out,” she meows, until
I get up. She trots to the kitchen,
looking back to yowl, “hurry.”

I stagger hand-over-hand around
the counter, drop to a chair and slide
the door open. She sniffs the frost.

I close the door. “Not yet.” I open it
again, she steps into the gap sits
and purrs, “This will be just fine.”

When I try to nudge her out she bites
my toe, backs up a little and bounds
out like a kid jumping into a lake.

As I head back to bed I think, at least
she gave the risk of going out
more thought than Bush gave Iraq.

Street corners full of arm-waving,
shouting, eager workers provide help
employers want when they want it.
No planning or paperwork required.

But illegals depress wages, and people
want laws enforced. Business prefers
making today’s mess legal. Practical
politicians side with their benefactors.

Bush’s “comprehensive immigration
reform” fell victim to public outcry,
but a crafty Congress chopped it into
pieces they can hide in other bills.

Of course they’re not likely to pass
any bills, but if they should, Bush
might pull his trusty new-found veto
pen from its scabbard and stab them.

Smiling traffic officers once worked
busy corners controlling cars by
stylishly waving arms, nodding heads,
spinning in big belly ballets, and
fiercely pointing fingers at anyone
slow to follow their directions.
In December cars paused to slip
bills into open hands to show thanks
for the daily entertainment.

Like Congress, the traffic corps didn’t
care where anyone was going, or why.
They concentrated on their performing
arts and collecting contributions, but
the cops came to work every day and
kept things moving while they were there.

As a youth I ran without getting winded,
unloaded boxcars of empty beer cans all day,
steered a snow blower without huffing until forty,
a lawnmower without puffing through my fifties.

The sight of a pretty girl took my breath away,
but that was imagination, not effort.

Over the years, age eroded my once strong body.
Putting on socks became a challenge.
Trips to the basement required planning.
As bending over got hard, and straightening up iffy,
I put long-handled grabbers all over the house.

Most mornings I rest after I climb out of bed.

Later, tongue out and panting, like a dog that just fetched,
I trudge up the driveway with a red face and the mail.
If there’s a copy of AARP Magazine, I grasp it between
thumb and forefinger, and drop it in the recycling bin.

The President’s view of what SCHIP will do,
differs from the bill’s supporters, in almost all respects.
At least that’s what the papers and TV report ―
without a hint of which opposing facts
resemble what the new law says.

Surely there are sources that could tell them and us
what is true and what is not.
There are many to explain the destiny of Brittney’s kids,
the ins and outs of rehab, and who’s entitled
to stolen stuff OJ forcibly reclaimed.

Of course the media says their audience
has more interest in people than in laws,
but I suspect the real reasons go much deeper.
They take Washington politicians at their word,
and devote investigations to show biz personalities,
because celebrities are so much closer to reality.