Brandon is slipping, slip-slipping away.
He started with nothing and gets worse every day.
His modus-operandi, has developed a hitch.
His critical thinking has an incurable glitch.
His cognitive mechanisms, are totally gone.
He can’t tell the difference twixt sunset and dawn.
His Doctor was seen, sadly shaking his head.
Repeating endlessly, this man is brain dead.
He goes through the motions, but he isn’t there.
His mind is now scattered, it’s gone everywhere.
His speech is disjointed, he hems and he haws.
He can no longer concentrate, causing faux pas.
Does he know who he is, why don’t you ask.
I’m willing to bet, he’s not up to the task.
Shame on you Jill, for exploiting this man.
Send him out to pasture as quick as you can.
He’s not up to the job, he’s no longer aware.
Most of the time the old Joe isn’t there.
He lives for his pudding, he dreams of the past.
As leader of the free world he’s absurdly miscast.
It’s obvious to all, he needs a long rest.
For the sake of the world, this would be best.
Give him a medal, one shiny and bright.
Then shuffle him off, into his good night.
D.L. Crockett — 7/9/22