His vericose veins bulging, his nostrils flared.
Biden pounded the podium, to show how he cared.
The blood drained from his face, he looked sickly white.
He pulled out a race card and held it up to the light.
This one's for Tucker, he screamed incoherently.
The silence was deafening,  he went on incessantly
His spittle was flying,  into the huge crowd.
They were growing restless, raucous and loud.
Someone threw an orange, another threw crap.
Waveringon his feet, feeling abandoned and trapped.
He glared at the crowd, his eyes shooting daggers.
Desperate to regain his pomp his self-righteous swagger.
He fumbled for words, where's Barack when needed.
He felt lost and alone, worse, he felt self-defeated.
He shuffled in small circles, he forgot where he was.
He screamed "Help Mr. Wizard", he soon lost his buzz.
He wanted the crowd silenced, he wanted them shot.
With the back of his hand, he wiped up some snot.
He said a quick prayer to Satan, begging for help.
He was backed into a corner, teeth bared like a whelp.
He saw Hunter watching him, a silent laugh on his lips.
He feared for his sanity,  quickly losing his grip.
he heard a buzz in his head, he perked up his ears.
Jill whispered to him soothingly, allaying his fears.
My poor little Joey, she whispered, my poor silly man.
Exit to stage left, come to me as fast as you can.
Tail between his legs, his ears laid back on his head.
Looking like a whipped cur, he did just what she said.
A short ten minutes later, his huge ego came roaring back.
After a hit on the crack pipe and a jolt of some smack.
He was once again riding high, on top of his game.
He was the king of the world, everyone else were all lames.
D.L. Crockett -- 12/5/23