Industrial Workers of the World

The Politician's Passing

As rosy dawn came peeping through the blind

A politician's soul from earth took wing.

A most amazing thing it was to find

That such a tiny, weak and shriveled thing,

A measly soul - no bigger than a louse -

Had dwelt in such a goodly seeming house.

Then swiftly whizzed the tiny, buzzing plague,

And headed for the Gate where Peter sat:

Its plans were neither nebulous nor vague,

All Heaven waited - It was sure of that.

On spheres mundane the life this insect led,

Develops what the vulgar call swelled head.

St. Peter dozing at the Pearly Gate

Aroused himself and yawned with jaded eye

He watched old Sol the Earth illuminate,

Then stretched himself, as with a weary sigh,

He looked along the straight and narrow road,

And shook himself and murmured, "Well I'm blowed."

The Saint was puzzled and a bit annoyed,

His takings at the gate were falling off;

The antics of his touts, on Earth employed,

Inclined most folk at Peter's joint to scoff.

While wrapped in thought by somber fancies bred

A "skeeter" started buzzing round his head.

It's shrill insistent hum at length aroused

The meditating saint - a vicious swot -

The soul an earthly tenement had housed

Was flattened to a tiny, shapeless blot.

And as the morning breeze began to play,

The measly blot dried up and blew away.

Cresset (Jack O’Neill) - Direct Action 22/1/1916