The FBI came to my door, kicking it in.
I  was hate-mongering, such hateful spin.
Factcheckers they claimed, checked my poems out.
They said hate-filled lies is what I'm about.
 My poems were seditious, meant to incite.
They asked if I wanted this kind of fight.
I said I was sorry, they're meant to entertain.
I apologized fervently, that was in vain.
They gaffled me up, they took me downtown.
 Joe read a poem of mine, putting him down.
He didn’t like it, he claimed it was uncouth.
He had me brought here, to teach me the truth.
 The door then flew open and Joe shuffled in.
Wearing stained underwear and a vacuous grin.
He looked at me asking, is this the wise guy.
Should he see me like this, when I’m really high.
They were told they said to bring me down here.
 You, Mr. President, wished to make something clear.
I asked Joe, was he upset, I wrote a poem about him.
His eyes lit up a little but were still really dim.
 ‘’Fact checker’’ told him my poem wasn’t true.
In it I'd claimed his eyes, were no longer blue.
Joe took out his compact and stared in the mirror.
In confusion, then Asking, 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 games his head plays.
Wheezing and shouting, calling for his meds’’.
Wanting Jill to come running to put him 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, we won't get in your way.
It was a night to remember, a night Joe forgot.
The night my silence couldn't be bought.
D.L. Crockett 3-27-2021