‘Twas days before THE Election and I just have to say

How disgusted I’ve become by our political fray.

I’m sick of the texts and the emails that plead

So desperately for my dollars, like paupers in need.

They come at me in droves, like ants gathering on cake;

Warning that the future of America’s at stake.

And that a fascist – or communist – could take over our lives;

Shredding all freedoms like a thousand cuts from knives.

$10.2 billion campaign funds will be spent across the boards;

That number ain’t fake folks. It’s reported by Forbes.

That’s up 13% from just four years ago.

I can’t help but wonder, will this madness ever slow?

Swing states pay most dearly, it’s as ugly as it gets

As voters are inundated with half-truths and threats.

Deniers and liars, it’s all part of the game

That no longer follows rules. It’s just getting insane.

There’s so much disinformation I cringe when I hear

How the mainstream media is the enemy to fear.

Not the Russians or extremists or deep fakes from AI.

Conspiracies run rampant. Mistrust an all-time high.

Nov. 5th around the corner, but the finish line’s not near;

Campaigning may stop but one sad fact is clear:

Political wounds can be fatal. They go far beneath the skin.

I can’t help but wonder: Will healing ever begin?

Poll numbers that tell us it’s a fight to the wire

Make the stakes – and our stress levels – rise that much higher.

In addition to attack ads, there’s lawsuits galore

To challenge voter counts both after and before

The last ballot is tallied. But when will that be?

Expect chaos to break out in the land of the melee.

Anger and anxiety have replaced pride of nation.

Expect post-election battles, including more litigation.

The country’s in tribes, each side’s loaded for bear.

When our roots have been rotted, we lose sign of what we share.

One thing that’s been great though, record votes are pouring in.

If only that guaranteed the best candidate will win.

Here’s a wish and a prayer in this election like no other;

You’re still talking to your friends – or at least your dear mother.

dcrosby@tribpub.com