I Don't Know Why

There was an old lady who swallowed a fly
I don't know why she swallowed a fly - perhaps she'll die!

We are a nation that swallows a lot. We relish a promise no matter how foolish.

Eight years ago, we swallowed a fly and again today. I don’t know why we keep swallowing flies. For eight years he’s been buzzing around in our ears and our eyes and he’s in our brain besides.

Look how the Lord of the Flies frets and struts when he spouts, and he flaunts. A few others have swallowed this fly…  millions have swallowed his lies. We’ve never seen an Ego and Id of such abnormal size.

He takes to his Oval and bequeaths it to Elmer Gantry, Archie Bunker and Citizen Kane. This is the fly over the mango, the one that ate Chicago. The hocus-pocus that infests us like locusts.

I don’t know why this nation keeps swallowing flies. When the fly hasn’t reached its demise, we swallow a spider that wriggles and jiggles and tickles inside. Then we swallow a bird, how absurd, in order to swallow the spider. Maybe we will swallow a swallow. The purple Rust Belt swallowed a goat; they just opened their throat, then they swallowed a horse. They will die of course.

We have swallowed his slurs and rants, his boasts and blather. We don’t know if he is delusional, depraved or deranged. He was born in a rancid hive of superlative flies. He’s that fly in the soup, now on the wall. Where is the flypaper to catch him in freefall?

Don’t you think it is time to turn away? Yes, doctor, but this is the fly my swatter can’t reach. He hovers over the bowl poisoning the fruits of our labor, our amber waves of grain. Yet if we snuff him and rebuff him, perhaps we won’t die.