His urine was puddled on the floor at his feet.
He squirmed in his diaper, when he took a seat.
He didn't look very happy, but how could we tell.
Maybe he was reveling in his godawful smell.
Jill picked up her own chair moving it further away.
Hunter had a snoot full of toot, so he was okay.
 Looking around in confusion,  guilty look on his face.
I don't think Joe was aware, he stunk up the place.
He stepped up to the podium, cheat sheet in hand.
With the podium to hang onto, he was able to stand.
His mouth hanging open, he slowly licked up his drool.
He was too gone to notice he was stuck to his stool.
The crowd watched him intently with bated breath.
Or a morbid fascination for his imminent death.
He did a slow motion two-step, no longer impressive.
He didn't look presidential, with his demeanor aggressive.
The gibberish reached our ears, the usual load of crap.
Someone held up a sign, telling us when to clap.
 A few people clapped while others brazenly booed.
We got his go to reaction,  as he stupidly schmoozed.
His complexion changed  from beet red to pale white.
He called Trump a Nazi, and put an end to the night.
He shuffled in circles, was it exit stage right or stage left.
Someone had to whisk him  offstage before he leapt.
Another press conference sideshow, another disaster.
Another ten minute look at an incompetent basta*d.
D.L. Crockett -- 6/17/24