For Mayor Poem by Ambrose Bierce

O Abner Doble-whose 'catarrhal name'
Budd of that ilk might envy-'tis a rough
Rude thing to say, but it is plain enough
Your name is to be sneezed at: its acclaim
Will 'fill the speaking trump of future fame'
With an impeded utterance-a puff
Suggesting that a pinch or two of snuff
Would clear the tube and somewhat disinflame.
Nay, Abner Doble, you'll not get from me
My voice and influence: I'll cheer instead,
Some other man; for when my voice ascends a
Tall pinnacle of praise, and at high C
Sustains a chosen name, it shan't be said
My influence is naught but influenza.