POLITICAL Poem: Campaign Champaign, by Gloria Nixon-John

First the pop and pour
CO2 rushing to the surface
then scoreggia a sound
that makes Italian schoolboys laugh.

Some plosives streak upward
disguised as vowels, some
stop on the surface
consonants falling flat.

The VIPs gather, one suggests
bigger flutes, another records
how each bubble contains
a rainbow even while clouds
threaten, a surrogate notes
how a good number cling,
shimmy, rise up, implode.

And really now what choice
do we have but to lift
the tempest to our lips
and wait for polite acceptance
(with reciprocity, of course).

Finally, the empty chalice
Is hurled in a measured arch
of celebration of discontent,
a real Fox News scoreggia.