Once upon a time … that’s how children’s stories begin. This is a children’s story for adults. Adults and children – anybody with a pulse really. Enjoy.

Once upon a time …

An anachronistic time;

Yet five hundred years ago;

“Anachronistic” means mixed up;

My words do surely show; …

There was a happy little town;

The people there were healthy and cheerful;

Their rosy faces round.

No troubles had the folks;

Beyond a trifling few;

The grass was always green;

The sky was always blue.

Unto this joyous hamlet;

A plague did come one day;

The people’s hearts were troubled;

There was a frightful fray.

Their bodies began a squirmin’;

Due to the awful vermin;

Worse than rabid rats, much worse;

There came the Battle sound;

Filthy politicians! had found the happy town!

Some were Republicrats;

Demopublicans there were too;

Some said the town was red;

Others claimed it was blue;

Libertarians, commies and greens;

Helped stoke the awful din;

And more and more of the foul vermin,

Kept a pouring, pouring in.

They talked to dogs, they preached to cats;

They kissed the cradled babies;

They bored the paint right off the slats.

They stood upon the square and babbled,

Day and night;

Self-righteous their indignation;

Each convinced only he was right.

Mary Lou tripped over one,

A camped upon her stair;

No body was too safe;

Each suffered his share.

A portly politician,

In search of warmth in rain;

Crawled in a sewer pipe,

And, there he clogged the drain.

The stench was overwhelming,

The picnics all were ruined;

The commercials and yard signs then started,

All displayed too soon.

Free healthcare!

Free trade!

Jobs for all or none!

The pols jibber-jabbered.

The folks began to run.

The people closed the airport,

In their attempt to flee;

But, there they found politicians,

Shaking tambourines.

The radio and television boasted,

Of goodies yet to come;

Most folks were flat annoyed,

The ads appealed only to some.

Pols were in the bars;

And in the diners too;

They claimed to be good Christians,

Some to be good Jews.

Nowhere could one tread,

Without a pol around;

Nothing could be heard,

Above the deafening sound.

Taxes yes!

Taxes no!

Military spending too!

Projects here!

Programs there!

Nonsense everywhere!

The pols had all the answers,

To questions no one asked;

With bloviating zeal,

Each took the other to task.

At last the people cried,

“No more!”

At the hall they had assembled;

They stamped the floor,

They beat the walls,

Until the building trembled.

The mayor they begged,

What could be done?

Before the fools blocked out the sun.

Pitchforks and torches they acquired,

They took out to the streets;

The politicians ran away,

On cheaply shodden feet.

Yet, next day they had returned,

And they were all the more.

The sickened locals,

All a stir,

Beat on the mayor’s door.

An exterminator out was called;

He did his very best;

But politicians still remained,

Surviving every test.

In desperation it was decided,

To just burn down the town;

Homelessness a small price it seemed,

For no politics around.

But, then a stranger did appear,

Strange and in strange gear.

A solution he proposed;

His purpose was then made clear.

A pollster, claimed he to be,

Armed with a ballot box;

The pols would follow him,

Like hounds after the fox.

A place of honor was he given,

As he laid out his plan;

The very unhappy people had all that they could stand.

My price I have,

No more than you may afford;

When I am done you will be rid,

Of politicians abhorred.

We’ll pay! We’ll pay!

The people they all roared;

Yet, the mayor,

Losing money,

The one thing he deplored.

Do this deed, the mayor cried;

He there did play along.

But, no intention did he have,

To pay the pollster’s song.

The people were so clamorous,

To see their troubles end;

They all did beg the pollster,

How soon could he begin?

The pollster held up the ballot box,

Of many-colored hue;

Upon a whistle, shrill to hear,

A note he then blew.

The godless politicians,

Unto the call they came;

And, in a line they all did march,

Their steps for once the same.

The pollster lead them true,

Through all the streets of town;

The clapping, cheering people,

Had all a gathered round.

Out through the gates,

The Pied Pollster led the throng;

Enraptured by his tune, the pols all stumped along.

When the parade had cleared the door,

The people slammed it shut;

Let no more liars here,

May ever show their butts.

No one knows,

Not to this day,

Where were the pols all led;

For all the good folks cared,

They each could all be dead.

Some said they marched into the sun,

And their the fried a livin’;

Some said they plagued a wicked town,

The crooked there just striven.

Google.

But, they were gone;

The people cheered,

A bonfire they did burn;

So happy to be freed,

They missed the Pollster’s return.

His penny he asked,

Now that the feat was done;

Yet, mayor and people,

Declared he should have none.

Perhaps corrupted they had become,

Politician tainted so,

This injustice, the Pollster said,

Simply has to go.

Once more his ballot box he lifted,

A clear note, again, he blew;

I will save your children,

That they be not like you.

The kids had no attention,

To the politicians paid;

In their play and fun,

They had all missed the great parade.

They laughed at pols upon the square,

And trapped inside the drain;

Immune from lies,

Honest they did remain.

But the Pollster’s call they heard,

And one by one they came;

Now, at parents stingy they jeered,

It all remained the same.

Away to Freedom-land,

The Pollster took the babes;

And, there, so happy, they reside,

As our fortunes do fade.

Three alone were left behind,

They did not heed the call;

Their descendants to this day,

May carry on the haul;

One became a Democrat,

He promised stolen wealth;

One a Republican,

Who spoke of war as health.

The last he was an anarchist,

And, he relays this tale;

And, if you do not like it,

Then you may go to …

Wow! What a story. What a poem.

My sincere apologies to Robert Browning.