Half of my administration is gone, and I have let
The polls slip from me and have not fulfilled
The aspiration of my Party, to build
Some tower of hype with lofty profits.
Not Condi, nor Rummy, nor the fret
Of restless Scotty who would not be stilled,
But Cheney, and a gun that almost killed,
Kept from me crimes he may accomplish yet;
Though, half-way out the door, I see Iraq
Plaguing my sleep me with its death and violence, --
A city in the twilight dim and vast,
With smoking oil wells, soft targets, and gleaming resources, --
And see before me on the front page
The condemnation of reality thundering from the streets.
(inspired by Thers)