Monday's Poetry: "The Sky Is Falling"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

Having grown up in Missouri I have fallen off of my share of turnip trucks – but none recently. Yesterday I received an emergency email from my state’s senior senator, Democrat Claire McCaskill.  The headline was alarming – or at least intended to be: BREAKING:  LATEST POLL SHOWS CLAIRE TIED WITH TRUMP –ENDORSED JOSH HAWLEY.

God almighty!

The message continued just below a big, red “DONATE” button.  I read on:

“Rocky, you need to hear this:  A new poll revealed that Missouri’s Senate race is now deadlocked.”

Holy frickin’ moly! But I digress.

“The Washington Post already reported that this Senate seat is the one most likely to flip red this year – so with momentum now on the GOP’s side, Republicans are now spending MILLIONS to replace Claire with a rubber stamp for the worst parts of President Trump’s agenda.”

That was followed by a red, white and blue graphic showing Hawley and McCaskill tied at 45% each – with another big, red “DONATE” button.

Biting my fingernails in pure angst, I kept reading.  The final paragraph had this to say:  

“Claire is a critical check on the worst parts of President Trump’s agenda, and we NEED her voice in the Senate – but she will lose if you don’t give right now:  Rocky, please rush $5 right now so we can stop Republicans from flipping Missouri’s Democratic Senate seat!.

Who even suspected that we had a “Democratic" Senate seat? I knew that we had two senators because every state does – but I thought they belonged to the people and were subject to changing parties with any election.

But the thing that intrigued me the most was the reference to a poll along with the results.    I completed a minor in political science back in the day and have always had an interest in polling.  One of the courses that I took even focused on polling.  I have discussed results of various polls in this space on many occasions – but with each of those polls I knew two things – which group did the polling, and the margin of error in the results – or, roughly, how correct it was likely to be.  

Claire’s “the sky is falling” alarmist email had no particulars about which poll she was citing. Was it something reputable such as one from Charlie Cook’s organization, or Gallup, or work by Larry Sabato’s people at the University of Virginia?  Or was it something that one of her interns conducted by going barstool-to-barstool in some trendy DC watering hole?  As the person holding the $5 bill, I would like a little more information – and I should not have to go digging for it on my own.

Today’s poetry selection is “The Sky Is Falling” by Chris Tusa, the last two stanzas of which sum up how I felt about Claire’s latest entreaty for a cash transfusion.  She can have this simple verse with my regards, but for now I will keep a firm hold on my wallet.

Claire McCaskill is a seasoned politician and a ruthless campaigner – and she is about to drop down on young Josh Hawley like an angry B-52 attacking a young sparrow who is still in flight school!    Take cover, Joshie, your sky is fixing to fall!

The Sky Is Falling 

by Chris Tusa

The sky is falling.
And Henny Penny is nowhere to be found.

There is no bright blue cartoon sky,
no pop-up green grass.

Only a grey horizon with a single black cloud
drifting like a hole in the sky.

Minutes later, I watch rain disappear from the radar,
watch the sun blink through the clouds.

And I feel like some dumb chicken,
panic knocking against my purple chicken heart,

the seed of some silly fear
planted deep in my tiny bird brain.