The FBI came to my door and then kicked it in.
Accusing me of inciting hate, once again.
A fact checker, they said, had checked my poems out.
They said I was lying, without a doubt.
They said my poems were sedition, meant to incite.
They asked if I write them when up in the night.
I said I was sorry, I just entertain.
My sincere apology, though, was all in vain.
They gaffled me up and took me downtown.
Saying Joe read a poem of mine, putting him down.
He didn’t like it, he claimed I was uncouth.
He had me brought here, to teach me the truth.
Then the door opened and Joe shuffled in.
Wearing stained underwear and a vacuous grin.
He looked at me saying, who is this guy.
Should he see me like this, when I’m really high.
The FBI said, they were told to bring me down here.
Because you, Mr. President, wished to make something clear.
I asked Joe, was he upset that I wrote a poem about him.
His eyes lit up a little but were still really dim.
They told him ‘’fact checker’’ said my poem wasn’t true.
In it I claimed that his eyes, were no longer blue.
Joe took out his compact kit and stared in the mirror.
In confusion, then saying, What’s happening  here.
Who is this idiot? This fool isn’t me.
I don’t look demented, how can this be.
My eyes are blue, not black like this fool.
My chins never dripping, covered in drool.
Joe, face full of rage, turned and shuffled away.
Mumbling invectives, about the games his head plays.
Wheezing and shouting, ‘’Jill, where are my meds’’.
Please come and help me, put me to bed.
The agent took my arm, saying, ‘’Joe’s mind isn’t right.
It’s clear it’s not you who is up in the night.
They took me back home saying ‘’write what you will’’
‘’You’re poems are great and they’re funny as Hell’’
‘’Joe’s mind is gone, it’s getting worse every day’’
‘’Keep writing the truth, you will be okay’’
That’s when I woke up and wrote down this dream.
It wasn’t a nightmare it was, a hoot and a scream.
D.L. Crockett 3-27-2021