Happy Halloween to voters, weak and weary

So Halloween and an election are looming, which seems like a great time to channel Edgar Allan Poe.

Poe's darker writings are, of course, a perfect match for the spooky holiday. He also was, according to numerous accounts, found delirious and lying in a gutter on Election Day in Baltimore, 1849. Poe died a few days later. There are theories he was the victim of 'cooping,” or a method of voter fraud where a victim is kidnapped and forced to vote several times. Booze also was involved.

So, on the cusp of an election that may leave a few of us delirious, I've updated Poe's classic 'The Raven.” Call it 'The Pollster.” Happy Halloween.

Once upon a weeknight dreary, while I pondered 'Big Bang Theory,”

Tween many a 30-second dose of campaign lore -

My eyes rolling, forehead slapping, suddenly there came a clanging,

As if someone hoped for chatting, chatting on my landline phone.

'Tis some pollster,” I muttered, 'ringing up my landline phone -

'Super annoyed, but nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak November,

And each separate ringing call sent my feet across the floor.

Eagerly I wished for respite - politics had made me desperate

For leave from our electorate - Why had I failed to cut the cords?

Cut the ceaseless interruptions spawned by autodialing trolls

‘Twas sloth, and nothing more.

I'll put my phone into a drawer. Better yet, under the floor,

Its incessant rings will fill my home no more.

But its clangs grew louder still, sternly testing my free will,

Could it be a friend or loved one I adore?

A call with warm regards, ringing my landline phone?

But ‘twas a pollster. 'Doh!” And nothing more!

So I grabbed up the receiver, a lengthy pause, it raised my fever,

Soon a voice was speaking, 'Karen” in recorded tone.

A short survey she requested, 'Too long!” my voice protested,

But she could not hear my cries into the phone.

Pray tell me pollster Karen which digit makes you go away?

Quoth the Pollster 'If the election were held today.”

Karen was persistent, seeking views she was insistent,

She begged to know my preference. 'Trump? Press one.”

I refused to make selections, she ignored my clear rejections,

This recorded temptress would not cease her monotone.

'Why can't you see? To this vile horse race I say neigh?”

Quoth the Pollster 'If the election were held today.”

With one yank I disconnected, but my phone was unaffected,

Its ceaseless rings now chilled me to my bosom's core.

The poll would not cease tracking, its results will feed the yacking

Of hissing cable demons who must report the current score.

But pollster Karen, 'Does substance lacking make you feel dismay?”

Quoth the Pollster 'If the election were held today.”

Karen asked, 'Is he a Nazi? Do you care about Benghazi?”

Emails, tax returns or grabbing? Which sin is simply too bad to ignore?

Are you stunned by WikiLeaks? Or is it bigotry that reeks?

Are immigrants or ISIS sending fear pangs to your anxious core?

I beg a wall be built twixt me and this loathsome fray!

Quoth the Pollster 'If the election were held today.”

So Pollster Karen, never stalling, still is calling, still is calling

On my landline phone, perched beside my kitchen door.

And these queries have all the seeming of a consultant who is dreaming

That the numbers from them streaming will his message surely underscore.

So now my answer to this pollster calling me across the floor?

'Undecided - evermore!”

' Comments: (319) 398-8452; todd.dorman@thegazette.com