"Daddy" Becomes "DeLay": A Parody

Sylvia Plath’s poem “Daddy” is one of the most powerful I know–so I am sure it can withstand the abuse I put it to here:

DeLay

You do not do, you do not do

Any more, black shoe

In which we have lived like a foot

For five Bush years, black and white,

Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

DeLay, we have had to defeat you.

You were indicted before we had time —

Money-heavy, a bag full of gold,

Ghastly statue with one gray toe

Big as a Presidential seal

And a head in that Sugarland Texas

Where corruption pours green over you.

In the rest of our beautiful country

We used to pray to get rid of you.

Yes, you.

In the American tongue, in the average town

Scraped flat by the roller

Of greed, greed, greed.

But the name of the town is common.

My struggling friends

Says there are thousands or more.

So we never could tell where you

Put your foot, your root,

We never could talk to you.

The tongue stuck in our jaws.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.

Ick, ick, ick, ick,

We could hardly speak.

We thought every congressman was you.

And your corruption obscene

An engine, an engine,

Driven over us by you.

By you in Austin, Boston, DC.

But we began to talk about you.

I think we began to understand you.

The snows of the Sun Valley, the clear beer of Wisconsin

Are not now pure or true.

You have poisoned them, taken our luck

And our dreams, and our dreams.

I hope we’re not a bit like you.

I have always been scared of you,

With your bug spray, your gobbledygoo.

And your neat cash stash

And your Aryan eye, bright blue.

Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You —

Not God but a swastika

So black no sky could squeak through.

Every country adores a Fascist,

The boot in the face, the brute

Brute heart of a brute like you.

You stand in Congress, DeLay,

In the picture I have of you,

A cleft in your chin instead of your foot

But no less a devil for that, no not

Any less the corrupt man who

Bit our pretty country in two.

I wish we could bury you.

In Austin, you they are trying

To get back, back, back at you.

To redeem us from the damage you do.

But they might pull you out of the sack,

And stick you back together with glue.

But then we will know what to do.

We found the source of you,

A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the screw.

And we said that’s you.

So DeLay, We’re finally through.

The money telephone’s off at the root,

The voices just can’t worm through.

If we’ve killed one corrupt man, we’ve killed two —

The Abramoff who said he was with you

And drank our blood for a year,

Five years, if you want to know.

DeLay, you can lie back now.

There’s a stake in your fat black heart

And the villagers never liked you.

They are dancing and stamping on you.

They always knew it was you.

DeLay, DeLay, you bastard, we’re through.

I wrote this last fall and posted it on My Left Wing.

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