His eyes had been scanned, nothing was seen.
His words were scrutinized, nothing pertinent gleaned.
His shuffle was studied, he was dragging his feet.
There was a brown stain on his suits shiny seat.
Someone noticed an odor, from ten yards away.
Told he smelled really rank, he had nothing to say.
Someone dropped their hat, he flew off the handle.
His temperature rose like a huge roman candle.
He threw a huge tantrum, he blubbered and bitc*ed.
it was obvious to all that hat tripped his switch.
He shuffled around angrily, he sputtered and hissed.
It stuck in his head that he somehow was dissed.
A few people snickered, his face turned beet red.
Steam quickly arose from the top of his head.
His ears started whistling like an overhot kettle.
He was losing it rapidly, he was not in fine fettle.
Someone was screaming, Jill came on the run.
My poor baby she said, what have they done.
I was being bullied, Joe cried, fake tears in his eyes.
Can we go home now, for my ice cream surprise.
Jill scolded the crowd, she harangued them a bit.
Till Joe said, can we go now mommy, I think I just sh*t.
That's what happens, when Joe sneaks out to play.
He flies off the handle if he can't get his way.
 Watching in amazement, as they led Joe away.
It seemed to them all of Joe's pressers ended this way.
D.L. Crockett -- 5/20/23