The poem came a day later.

I know it may be a tad late
For that, we'll blame that damn debate
And afterwords, I had to clean
Away the stupid and the mean.
I disagree with pundits some
And feel that no one really won.
At least it wasn't held against me
Last night's show was at eight-oh-three. 

 

The sell-off starts at eight

That smashing sound you all may hear
Is banks and savings crashing
Adam Smith sheds a single tear
While markets get a thrashing

Politics seem petty now
Bankers wish they were dead
Yet both campaigns have laid out how
They'll reorganize the Fed.

Wow, I almost forgot to post this.

The storms are coming to the Texas coast
Hitting those drills of which we boast
Interviews happened on ABC
A deer in headlights saying "Charlie".
The dead cat bounce wasn't that big
Just putting lipstick on a pig
As for the presidential race
Talk about that till you're blue in the face

The love-fest starts at eight

Finally! It's over. The conventions are all through
A giant rear projector tried so hard to set the scene.
(And, content-wise, I'll say that those speeches really blew
But must amuse crowds drunken on both blood and Ovaltine.)
No matter what has happened, the skies today are blue.
But what about those mornings when the eastern sky is red?
I'll impart a little bit of folk wisdom to you:
That's an indication of foul weather up ahead.

Our convention starts at eight.

OH! What a week for history!
A speech by ailing Kennedy
Why, even Bill and Hillary
And half the Biden clan.

Michelle got up in her green dress
And Richardson gave his address
Kucinich even joined the mess.
Sing it loud, "Yes we can!"

Then Barak stood out in the field
And every promise he revealed
Was, with a plan, so artfully sealed.
All upstaged by Miss Palin.

Our trains leaves a little after 8

To every hill, valley, and nation
Around the world won't take that long
Visiting our musical relations
For the better or the wrong
It will either bore or amaze us
You'll have to dance or want to sit.
But, like the weather here in Texas
All you do is wait a bit

Eight o'clock, let's get started!

Quick! before I forget to say:
Sarah Fouquet turns an age today.

Each week I write a little rhyme
About how I will spin it.
Sometimes I do ahead of time;
Sometimes at the last minute.
I had worked out a lovely refrain
About love and the past and regret.
But a glimpse of a coyote from the train
Made me completely forget.