A Confederacy of Dumptys: Portraits of American Scoundrels in Verse

by John Lithgow

At the crack of dawn in Washington, first Wednesday of the year, The sky was blue, the sun was bright, the air was crystal clear. Like a child on Christmas morning, Dumpty quivered with excitement At the prospect of a day of demagogical incitement. A plot was taking shape that day, transcending all his dramas. He rehearsed it pacing up and down in slippers and pajamas. Padding to a window with a view of the Ellipse, He whispered “Stop the Steal” through a pair of trembling lips. Elsewhere in the capital, responding to his call, Thousands of his followers were spoiling for a brawl. Dumpty’s private infantry of goth conventioneers Had mustered all their forces to secure him four more years. The night before, they’d gathered for a warm-up demonstration To stoke the glowing embers for the next day’s conflagration. Their cheers were heard for hours on end throughout the dark metropolis