He took his butthurt with him, he wandered off to cry.
He had trouble understanding why no one bought his lies.
His job approval dropped like a stone, it hurt him to the core.
 Some people described him as a used up whacked out bore.
Thinking he was beloved, he couldn't believe any polls.
He thought everyone was enraptured by his communist goals.
He needed a shoulder to cry on, to hear encouraging words.
His legacy took hits every day, so much animus he'd incurred.
He was good old uncle Joe, carrying his heart in his hand.
He was the most caring person across the whole land.
He was Joseph Biden the uniter, bringing the world together.
He was saving the whole world by changing the weather.
He knew what the problem was, that damn Donald Trump.
Everytime he went after The Donald, he wound up the chump.
He lost his temper more often, his joy of living was gone.
He was starting to have doubts of the path he'd put America on.
He was tired of the voice in his ear, tired of Michelle and Barack.
Tired of his crooked son Hunter and his addiction to crack.
What he needed right now was Jill saying he'd be all right.
He needed to stay focused and keep her goals in his sight.
He needed to feel her touch, to feel her bussing his cheek.
He needed Jill more than ever, when he was feeling so weak.
After crying his eyes out, Joe did the same thing he always does.
He went straight to see Hunter, where he copped a new buzz.
D.L. Crockett -- 2/7/24