A Poem, Not by Henry Gibson 0
Remember Henry Gibson? Well, he didn’t write this.
If you can keep running when all about you
Are afraid of losing and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself alone when your party doubts you
And trusts another far more, too,
If you can wait for superdelegates to turn,
Lying will help, there’s no harm in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give a damn about haters,
But don’t hesitate to feign hurt, and sometimes cry:If you can bowl–and not make the blue collar your master,
If you can do shots–and not lose your game;
If you can sit down with both Russert and Blitzer
And charm those two jagoffs to advance your aims;
If you can bear to hear your name cursed
By the best in the the party you claim to love,
And watch that party become rent and broken,
And laugh as you focus on rising above:If you can talk with crowds, yet remember CEOs own you,
Or sit on Wal-Mart’s board, yet charm union bigs
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If you can screw them all just for the top gig,
If you can destroy the progressive movement
With a rank selfishness borne of certainty,
Yours is the donkey and what’s left of its carcass,
And–which is all that matters–you’ll be the nominee!
