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    Ode to a candidate trying to be all things

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    By HOWARD TROXLER

    © St. Petersburg Times, published October 2, 2000


    The love song of J. William Nelson
    (Did you really think I was going to do only one side?)


    Let us go then, you and I,
    With fresh poll data spread out as we try
    Like a voter etherized
    by droning rhetoric;
    Let us go, through certain
    half-deserted rallies,
    The daily doings
    Preaching abortion rights and
    gun control in Tampa
    But sawdust good-old-boy-ness
    in the Panhandle:
    Promises that bubble
    like a tedious fountain
    Of insidious spending
    To lead Republicans to
    an overwhelming question.
    Oh, do not ask, "Who will pay?''
    We'll deal with that some other day.

    In the room, consultants come and go
    Talking of how today's wind blows.

    And indeed there will be time
    To wonder, "Do I dare?''
    and "Do I dare?''
    Time later to assess what is still there
    Inside, and for what I truly care
    (They will say: "How sincere
    he seems!'')
    A suit well-filled, firmly to the seams,
    My jaw clenched firm, asserting
    a manly mien
    (They will say: "His eyes
    contain an imposing gleam!'')
    Do I dare
    Spray my hair?
    After November there is time
    For decisions and revisions
    which a minute win reverse.

    For I have known them all already,
    known them all -
    Have known the leftish Democrats,
    when that was all right,
    I have tacked and yawed my record
    measured in coffee spoons,
    I have seen the Republicans rise
    and my party fall
    Beneath its own weight, and seen
    impending gloom
    So how should I presume?

    And I have known the voters already,
    known them all -
    The eyes that fix you
    in a formulated phrase,
    And when I am formulated,
    sprawling on a pin,
    When I am pinned and
    wriggling to a win,
    Then how should I begin
    To promise all things to all people
    every day and way?

    Shall I say, I have ridden the shuttle
    into outer space
    And presided as insurance chief
    (hey, with no big hurricane!),
    And then maybe bring up
    the shuttle stuff again?

    I am no prophet - and here's
    no great matter;
    I have seen the moment of
    my greatness flicker,
    And I have seen the press hold
    my coat, and snicker,
    And in short, I was afraid.

    And would it have been worth it,
    after all?
    Would it have been worthwhile,
    After the stiff grins and the handshakes
    and the lifetime spent,
    After the chicken dinners,
    after the money-begging,
    after the polite chat at the door,
    And this, and so much more?
    Would it have been worthwhile
    If one, not in office,
    as if throwing off a shawl,
    And turning toward the window,
    should say:
    "That is not it at all,
    That is not what I meant, at all.''

    I grow bold . . . I grow bold . . .
    I shall wear my shirt
    with both sleeves rolled.

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