On the wrong side of everything, Joe Biden is lost.
He can't find his way forward and we pay the cost.
His mind wanders in circles, his body shuffles behind.
His thoughts are incongruous, his far sight is blind.
He lives for the moment,  no comprehension of time.
Convinced he's some kind of diety, told he's sublime.
His countenance is deadpan, his eyes de-energized orbs.
He's drawn to young children,  his attention absorbed.
His vision  lacks insight, his thoughts mostly mundane.
He walks around like a zombie looking for brains.
His actions are creepy, his temper volatile and nasty.
 Like death warmed over, his complexion is ghastly.
He drifts into confusion, his brain can easily disengage.
He's really out to lunch Joe, full of fake tears and faux rage.
The world knows he's a poser, a demented old man.
 His head up his a*s, where someone feeds him plans.
His diet is pudding and pills, he has a huge appetite.
He likes to hide in the basement, the light is too bright.
He's dragged out for photo-ops to prove he's alive.
At the rare press conference, it's all shuck and jive.
His speech has lapsed into gibberish, nothing to say.
They fly him to Ireland, where he's safely out of the way.
Some say it's Joe's fault that the world is laughing.
Some say there's a chance it's his assinine staffing.
Whatever the problem, the world's had enough.
Of a demented, senile old pervert, acting like he's tough.
D.L. Crockett -- 4/19/23