He was rubbing his forehead, his thoughts turned to sh*t.
He blubbered, he boohooed, he hawked up some spit.
He let fly a big loogie, it dribbled from his chin to his shoe.
He was caught up in a quandary, he was missing a screw.
His new tan made him look manly, Jill said like, polka dot crap.
His head was still ringing from Jill's stinging bi*ch slap.
It came out of nowhere, Jill seemed more touchy these days.
She said she was tired of the stupid games his head plays.
She didn't like changing his diaper, or fending off his caresses.
She didn't like his shenanigans, or his hands up her dresses.
Joe heard the same thing every day, in one ear out the other.
The reason he married her was because he needed a mother.
He felt the weight of the world were on his shoulders alone.
Yet he nas never allowed to answer the oval office red phone.
They worried he'd say something stupid and start WWW III.
He was usually locked in the basement and couldn't get free.
His life wasn't all coming up roses, it was pretty much of a drag.
He felt Barrack was going to leave him holding the bag.
He was going to be blamed for the crap Barrack made him do.
Driving the last nail in his coffin, before barrack was through.
He feared Jill would strip off her mask revealing the true man.
Barry would come out of the closet and they'd elope to Iran.
Hunter would rob his nest blind, then turn states evidence.
 Denials would fall on deaf ears, his life would lose relevance.
He would wind up with nothing, and he wouldn't be happy.
He'd have a six by ten cell, and everything would smell crappy.
D.L. Crockett -- 8/27/23