The questions are real, his answers are lies.
His cronies are laughing, slapping their thighs.
His smile is gruesome, a sick thing to be seen.
It causes sharp pains , in my healthy spleen.
A smell of decay is present, wafting around.
Something needs to be buried, deep underground.
Seals are clapping, rewarded with fish.
What's being proferred, is an unsavory dish.
Requiring much effort, choking it down.
Another load of BS, from a compromised clown.
The presser is brief, his energy sapped.
A bad smell is left, like somebody crapped.
Heads are scratched, questions unanswered.
Were we unwillingly, subjected to cancer.
Exit stage left, no, exit stage right.
Someone come help him, he isn't to bright.
His pantseat is shiny, I guess it's a plus.
A dark grayish spot, could it be pus.
 Graced with his 2 step, we see him trip.
It's looking like sanity, gave him the slip.
A quick llittle faceplant, par for the show.
He's up, he's allright, how would he know.
Jill to the rescue, grabbing his hand.
Another great presser, wasn't it grand.
He shuffles off to a round of applause.
Everyone's spewing what's in their craws.
A wasted morning, comes to and end.
I watched an old geezer, breaking wind.
What a scoop, headlines for the papers.
People filmed fainting, prey to his vapors.
D.L. Crockett -- 6/23/23