(This poem could be sung to the melody of Cole Porter's song "You're the Top" from ANYTHING GOES.)

The fear's gigantic;
I'm getting frantic.
Although it MIGHT make some folks squirm,
My thoughts about this are really firm:
There can't be a second term.
It's worth repeating;
I'm not retreating,
For I know there's a lot at stake.
And if my ramble
Is worth the gamble,
I can't help saying
Which choice I'd make.

He's a mess.
He's a real loser.
He's a mess.
He's a sunken cruiser.
He's a song that goes on and on; who knows how long?
He's a rotten apple,
A rusty scapple,
A deal gone wrong.

He's a car
That has lost its power.
He's a jar
Full of food that's sour.
He's a popped balloon, a sick cartoon, and yes,
You can't help but see how truly
He's a mess!

He's a mess.
He is Batman's Joker.
He's a grade--
Worse than mediocre.
He's a cloudy day that's so cold and gray in spring.
He is Putin's BFF,
Hannibal Lecter's chef,
A ding-a-ling!

He's the score
Of the team that's losing.
He's a joke
That is not amusing.
So much separates the candidates. I'll stress:
One should NEVER vote for Trump 'cause
He's a mess!

-by Bob B (10-19-24)