Without Cain to keep him in line,
the white, Southern scarecrow isn’t
Abel and just blows in the wind,
“Lynchin’, of course, it is a Lynchin’,”
the Carolina cracker says through
swollen cheeks and baggy eyes
or a really big hangover in unctuous,
servile support of the occupant’s
claim that his impeachment inquiry
is a lynching while the straw blows
out of his servile arms and the blackbirds
pluck out his eyes and his thick,
southern drawl tongue and he’s
left looking like a used car lot
crazy air balloon figure “blowin’
in the wind.”