Dies Irae

As if the pumpkin carver's hand had slipped
And put the glowing apertures awry,
Inconstant flickering betrays a soul
Malformed, a show-biz golem on display.
And in my ears a ghastly cackle rings,
Malignant gleefulness at having sent
Entire nations to the underworld --
It is a woman's voice; should I be moved?
Two awful beings, looming in the night
To haunt our screens with horrid frequency,
And after all the youngsters with their bags
Of candy and their dilettantish frights
Have gone to bed, their parents grimly turn
To face the greater horror, one that preys
Upon the hapless voter in eight days.