Last Tuesday was not John Hickenlooper's day. Had he caught all the woo pitched his way a year ago and made a run for governor, he probably would have been elected.
Instead, his town was having trouble electing anyone, thanks to the disastrous performance of the Denver Election Commission.
No, it was not Hickenlooper's his day, and everyone recognized it. The honeymoon was over.
Denverite Jeremiah Michael Attridge commemorated the occasion with this poem: The crowd's love is fickle, cruel, then coy, in its whim and predilection, as thou hast learned now golden boy, since your recent botched election.
Once throngs of adoring fans couldn't tire, of your fresh-faced schoolboy looks, ignoring illegals your greasy spoons did hire, and your pedestrian taste in books.
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But no voters believe when you confide, how you had no clue of knowing, much like McNichols when he cast his gaze outside, and didn't notice, it was snowing.
Love's first blissful kiss has gone away, to no more be freely rendered, For now you're just another John who'll pay, and the honeymoon has ended.
In Denver on November 7, worse definitely came to verse. -- Patricia Calhoun