(Based on a soliloquy of his)

All their world is staged,
And all their men and women merely players:
They have their accents and their idiocies
And one Dem in his time plays many parts,
His acts being several rages:

At first, they’re infants
Mewling and puking and cursing arms.

And then a whining soy-boy, with his cudgel
And punchable moaning face,
Creepy like Smails
Unwilling to be schooled.

And then a loser
Sighing like the fan base
With a woeful word salad
To make believe having a mistress is highbrow.

Then a Social Justice Warrior,
Full of vague hopes and bearded for jihad
Jealous, dishonored, sudden and quitting in quarrels,
Seeking a double reputation
At all events for their canon’s mouthpieces:

Media injustice,
Unfair all-round bullies with videotapes unkind
With lies severe, unseen informal cuts,
Full of contrived pauses and immoderate editing;
And so they play their part.

The sixth age shifts into
The green and slippery politician
With spectacles on nose and bank pouch on side
His youthful followers, ill-behaved, too wide-eyed
For his rank planks
And his big-government voice
Turns their childish troubles
Into gripes and whistles in the wind.

Last scene of all,
That ends their strange demented history
Is perpetual childishness and mere oblivion — like
Sanders’ defeats, Sanders’ lies, Sanders’ hates . . .
Sanders’ everything.