I see him,
dressed in a crisp, new suit,
button-down, baby blue shirt,
red power tie.

His diction is flawless,
his banter witty and warm.
He exudes extreme self-confidence.
He knows his own worth.

Soon he begins to pontificate
on the presidency and politics.
Surprisingly, his remarks are nuanced,
sensitive, caressed with tolerance.

Then he begins to sweat,
his eyes downcast; his body slumps.
What dark, deep secret is he hiding?
What arcane cosmic law has he violated?

In all absurdity, I see him suddenly
as Joseph K. The burghers soon
join me. The verdict is in.
With practiced dexterity, they slit his pale throat.