"bologna" poems
An early evening gust
broke the back of the day's blaze
Still 90 degrees at eight
in orange haze
Sweat runs down my neck
Through the gorge between my *******
The wind lifts my linen shirt
runs its hands along my sides
reviving memory
of Forest Park
of a blanket in the grass
Where the pines trace
so many faces
Crackling popping kids
stolen matches, running
screaming victorious!
Blowing tin cans up with fire crackers
Bicycles, sparklers, fireworks at dusk
That whole afternoon
I spent hammering caps
Noise really makes us kids
really
especially
annoying
Mom wants us out!
Gone! All of us!
No needs. No excuses!
No cookies! No slices of bologna!
“No more Kool Aid!
Out now!
Out!”
That evening I tried
to dismiss the itchy sweat
of stupid-sister-Suzy-matching-sun-suits
at Gino's family picnic
When some kid
(I don't know?)
between the rigatoni and the sweet corn
Some kid
tosses a sparkler
into box of fireworks
I don't know?
whether to cry or laugh
I was pretty scared
Rockets going off across the lawn
and onto porch
Craze of colors through the trees
Some at eye-level horror!
But the sight of Aunt Nedda
diving under picnic table
Stockings, garter belt upended
Capsized beyond her caring
of uplifted dress
Some images just stay with you, ya know?
July 4th always lands for me
on a firework's ***
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 1:34 AM UTC
Octavian Octopus
lives In the sea
with eight long tentacles
to hug you and me
He spends his days
with Seahorse Sabrina
who dreams longingly
of being a ballerina
Octavian wants so much
to be like his crony
but sadly, all of his
dance moves are bologna.
Still he felt that
he needed to impress
his funky fresh pal
in the pretty pink dress
so for hours, Octavian
practiced his spins and his twirls
he even got a costume
with glittery frills
So came the day
of the big talent show
He could show old Sabrina
that he too, was a pro
But alas,
half way through his act
his big squirmy arms
got caught in a crack
He tripped and he stumbled
and fell off the platform
tears started to fall
and away, he started to storm
"Stop!" a voice shouted at him
and he turned around to see
his best friend Sabrina
giggling with glee
"the very best dancer,
you don't need to be
if you really want to
be friends with me"
He smiled and she laughed
"you're very cool, you silly-old-goof,
but just be yourself,
not a stumbling doof"
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 10:43 AM UTC
Contemplating the versatility of Mayo
And all that can be done with it
From the slathering on whilst sun bathing
To globbing it on my bologna sandwich
I find it tantalizing to the tastebuds
And it sure does sizzle in the sun
I once applied to much and set my toes on fire
Lucky for me I lost only one
Thank goodness I was near the water
When my foot went up in flames
I guess that's why God gives us ten toes
In case we lose any along the way
As with anything you can even get bored with Mayonnaise
That's why I strive for different ideas
So I put my brain juices into overdrive
And came up with this amazing list
Instead of milk in a shake you can use Mayo
Please wait till the end for all the applause
I'm still having trouble dealing with thickness
And have yet to get it through the straw
Perhaps if I leave out the ice cream
And just add Mayo, milk chocolate, and ice
I guess I'll just keep on experimenting
When it's ready you can be the first in line
And who doesn't like mayonnaise on anchovie pizza
The perfect combination at best
Even better than peanut butter and jelly
If only I can figure out how to package it
Mayonnaise is also the perfect conditioner
You could leave it in your hair for days I suppose
But try to avoid to much time in the sun
After all...remember the toes
I'm going back to my room for more ideas now
Or as I like to call it..."The Mayo Think Tank"
I know my family thinks I'm a genius
Cause they always leave me in there for days
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 3:47 PM UTC
When I grew up my mom would cut coupons and scrounge for change in the sofa to buy me a chicken nugget happy meal McDonalds. She would cut coupons and would only buy nectarines if they were on sale. I grew up eating bologna sandwiches with kraft cheese slices and potato chips.
I think your mom had different priorities.
The man at Starbucks, told me that opposites attract and I think that is why were together. He told me a Intuitive Innovative Feeler. Does that mean that you are oblivious and emotionless *** I don't think so?
Lately I have been whining a lot. Whining about where we live, what we do, what we don't do, how you act, how you don't act, about how your mom wants us to water the brussels sprouts that no one likes and clean the toilets no one uses.
Sometimes I say things to hurt your feelings. Sometimes I mean it. I word them so that they are as hurtful as can be and you never react. Is it bad to want to make you cry? You test my sanity everyday, you break me every day, and here I am still trying to chip away at the facade, the make up you cover up with.
I think living in the mountains has taught me about all the things that I don't want to be. I don't want to be cut off, I don't want to be nice, I don't want to be liberal, I don't want to be conservative, I don't want to see the same people everyday, and I definitely don't want to spend eleven dollars on heirloom tomatoes.
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 11:00 AM UTC
The little voice inside of you
Directing decision
Trapped
Unable to envision
Success
In rapid succession
Reverting
In sudden regression
Sewing shut
Your mind's eye
Blame your loss of contact
Contact with me
The romantic deviant
Your love is beautiful
With all it's conditions
Scolding the masses
For their mental carbon emissions
Unpopular
Is an understatement
What do you expect
Pushing for a decision
When there is no answer
Jan 1, 2011
Jan 1, 2011 at 2:19 PM UTC
Let 'em hear ya in the cheap seats
In the nosebleeds
Trashed and thrashed
The stove heats up the whole house
The beauty pageant is being judged by those who have been bribed and the biased
There's no room at the inn
To the barn, I guess
Ring in the morning
As today's hectic schedule chimes in
The chimney sweep preforms rhinoplasty on a bobcat
And sends windup toys to Goodwill
I christen thee, Backwards!
Here, take this seven leaf clover for good luck
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 2:35 PM UTC
Late afternoon, haze hung low, heat and sky
holding breath. You’re it. No tag-backs. Asphalt
freckles our knees. Dinner is anytime: bologna
on white; Kool-Aid cut thin with tap. No hurry home
unless for the news. We don’t.
We want what’s coming, not what’s been.
Paper fortune tellers flutter open, close.
She writes the answers first, back turned.
Lift one flap: your dog dies. Another: a prince
charming. Another: best party in town,
limousine awaits. He lifts a flap: her name.
actually meant for you, her sister whispers.
Then rain, the blue-lined paper sags, ink settles
in cracks, bare feet scatter, futures wash
mid-fold into a storm drain. At Cheshire and
Green Meadows, a drunk witch swears Venus and Jupiter
will make us all rich. She leaves out how long
the sky makes you wait. Lunch money turns
to lottery slips. Rounding the corner, moving vans
idle over chalked hopscotch, our names folded under.
Aug 17, 2025
Aug 17, 2025 at 1:35 AM UTC
In Lisbon, we blended
ended the day with spectacular culinary
Shopped and hopped side to side
In Dublin, we vented
as the whisky and Guinness was **** good
Shipped the hire car to Galway
In Italy, we invented
dropped coins in fountains of love we already held
From Florence, to Milan, to Rome, to Bologna
In Paris, I rented
alone in protests and hippies at Place De La Republique
Dreamt of you as they skated
In Romania, I persisted
up on the icy Tranfagarasan highway traps
I saw a bear and it had your eyes
In Stockholm, we insisted
As the Vasa sunk on tables of *****
Pecked on the trains and shied away.
In London, we protested
It was an ordinary day and the flowers didn't bloom
The Thames was gloomy and stale
In Oslo, we transmitted
The reindeer meal and cranberry was a disaster
The gloom followed us to southern skies
In Copenhagen, you were sorted
Smiled and amused by the Tivoli gardens
The night became day and the wind withered
In Amsterdam, we did what we did
Stored the memories on the reclaimed lands
Free-spirited in love and in eternity
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 6:05 PM UTC
The french Figured
Out a way to
Simplify the cooking
Experience
Sheer brilliance
I say, Sheer brilliance
But I wonder why the
Bologna doesn't Fry until the Bubble
Forms when my grandma used to cook it?
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 10:58 PM UTC
Hungry, no breakfast again
Nosed pressed up to the screen door of the cafeteria
While the other children play
I watch and sniff the air while they eat
Wishing I had those soft, delicious rolls
That cold milk
I had bologna on white bread
And green Kool-Aid in a thermos
Always warm and unappealing by lunch time
Same thing every day
Once Kathy gave me a roll
And it made my day
Sep 18, 2009
Sep 18, 2009 at 6:27 AM UTC
The **** shovelman sits by the railroad track
Eating a noon meal of bread and bologna.
A train whirls by, and men and women at tables
Alive with red roses and yellow jonquils,
Eat steaks running with brown gravy,
Strawberries and cream, eclaires and coffee.
The **** shovelman finishes the dry bread and bologna,
Washes it down with a dipper from the water-boy,
And goes back to the second half of a ten-hour day's work
Keeping the road-bed so the roses and jonquils
Shake hardly at all in the cut glass vases
Standing slender on the tables in the dining cars.
2k
I woke from the deepest of daydreams,
my eyes focusing after being long glazed over.
It’s late in the afternoon-- the light pours through the window—
it draws across above my left shoulder.
The tea kettle whistles
like a freight train in the background.
She’s in the kitchen, but I can easily see
her veiny hands dropping the Earl Grey tea ball
into the scolding water.
—her hands, like old softly crumpled white paper.
The same routine, every day since
great granddad passed in 1961.
Rock forward, rock backward.
What time could it be? Was I out for long?
Fresh cut grass, the familiar smell of lawn and moth ball
I so readily identify with this old Victorian house built by my family.
Evermore, the scent of kerosene dances
with the freshness of bologna and tomato sandwiches
on lightly toasted pumpernickel bread.
Where’s that 1000 piece puzzle with kittens in a basket?
Long gone?
I guess it’s been over a decade since me and my sister
last conquered that puzzle and strategically placed
connected and sectioned chunks
back in the box for easy assemblage on future rainy days.
Rock forward, rock backward.
Her first step from kitchen tile to wood planks
sets off a chain reaction of creeks and moans
that only wood of this age and wear can produce.
She enters the sitting room, puts the tea tray atop
the white baby grand piano: “tea time, honey,”
she whispers with a crooked smile and sad eyes.
Rock forward, rock backward.
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 11:55 PM UTC
“The autopsy will confirm no trauma to the body
no foul play”
Face down in the river
whose name means forked tongue
A crow investigates
where water frowned in flotsam
face down—muddied
hair, mustachio
jeans and striped tee
whose--
“name has not been released pending...”
...His loves
tattooed on upper arm
“Coroner awaiting the next of....”
He'll wait a while
for “Mom and Budweiser” to finally check in
He may have...
“He may have been... ...a resident of
The Cozy Care Home”
where he paid for the care
questioned the cozy whose agent demurs—
“The turnover here is just so rapid... steady current of guests
No one ever noticed....”
“...this is Jacqueline Henry with WBSH News”
“The autopsy will confirm...”
First of the month
to town on a mission
Just a short hop
from stone to stone
from day to day
from rock to a hard place
Looking for a short cut
to Tasty Cakes, bologna
Wise Chips and a 40
cross the gurgling,
glinting light and liquid laughter
...This river has a forked tongue...
...a resident
...a resident
who paid to get missed
who one week before
on the easy way of an April day...
Knocked down, gasping
knocked down
and yanked through his forty-eight years pulled through panic
by lean muscle of current
wishing for something...
for someone
to hang on to!
The autopsy will confirm
This river lies
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 12:13 PM UTC
The beast cobbler somber suited to putrid minions,
And picked apart the whiskers of death and scribed a diction,
"He hath no fury than an arcade weapon scorn"
Tis I blasted through virtual vitriol levels with life unborn,
Licking the literature scriptures and propagandizing dilemma,
I trained Cerberus into a vicious ************
Biting heathens with the molars demons fear to run from,
Too **** farmer to sail away from my problems,
I reaped too many seeds to bleed,
So all your fuming won't do absolute **** to me,
I'm a dark stepchild of instability and fertility,
Shallow stocking delinquent seeking fire with an angel match cracking humility,
I'm a typhoon buffoon with Hanna-Babara tendencies,
**** with me and get a lethal dose of dynamite and Trojan Horse remedies,
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 6:16 PM UTC
Whenever I ask myself, I wonder if anyone has ever touched their toe to their ******* I know someone has. I know it’s possible and it’s true. I am a human. I don’t have anything to prove and I don’t have to prove anything. I am here to be here. There is nothing besides happy.
There are holes in everybody’s story. You never know everything about anybody. The person you want to spend the rest of your life with may pick their nose and eat the boogers. They may talk bad about you on the phone. Hell, maybe they abuse their pets when you’re gone. You can’t know until you catch it on camera. My coworker once told me, “You be careful.” He said, “You know, people be watchin’ when you don’t think they watchin’.” I have a saw in my closet. I asked myself, “What would you be scared to see?”
My hands are always cold. I once picked my grandmother’s dog up by its hind legs with my cold hands. I didn’t even know they were mine until years later when my cousin told me and I confessed to my grandma. I think my cousin is gay but no one will admit they’re thinking the same thing. All he eats is bologna with mustard, how many times can you eat mustard in one day? How many spoons do you have? I only use knives with butter when I scrape the butter from a spoon. I’m not an idiot. Butter goes on toast.
My sister doesn’t use a toilet, she dug a hole. She could fit into the hole if she wanted to, but she doesn’t want to, she dug it for me. I still haven’t thanked her but I don’t think she’s noticed, she still talks to me.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 1:45 AM UTC
I’m not big enough
I’m not strong enough
It isn’t wide enough
It isn’t long enough.
I’ve hear them all
You are not the first.
Not the best and certainly
You are not the worst.
Princess Tiny Meat
That surely is me.
As uninteresting
As a guy can be.
No fun in bed, but
How would they know?
They take one look
And away they go.
I’m not rich enough
Car’s not worth enough.
I live in the wrong place
No work done on my face.
Don’t know the right folks.
Don’t know the right jokes.
Don’t know the right dances.
Not worth taking chances.
Princess Tiny Meat
That surely is me.
As uninteresting
As a guy can be.
No fun in bed, but
How would they know?
They take one look
And away they go.
Not butch enough, yet
Who cares about that?
What matters in their soul
Is a big one for their hole.
It must be a big opening
That keeps them hoping
For an arm-sized toy
For such a fixated boy.
Princess Tiny Meat
That surely is me.
As uninteresting
As a guy can be.
No fun in bed, but
How would they know?
They take one look
And away they go.
There must be no talking;
Nothing but constant poking
Will satisfy the size-slut.
Nothing matters but their ****
No exchange of ideas or
Hobbies they can explore.
There is only getting laid.
And the conquests they made.
Princess Tiny Meat
That surely is me.
As uninteresting
As a guy can be.
No fun in bed, but
How would they know?
They take one look
And away they go.
It doesn’t take long to see
Where the gems can be
Among a sea of phonies
And disco show-ponies.
So, I tell them right away
There’s no bologna here today.
It runs off the size-queens
And leaves human beings.
Princess Tiny Meat
That surely is me.
As uninteresting
As a guy can be.
No fun in bed, but
How would they know?
They take one look
And away they go.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 4:50 PM UTC
How you ARE?
It all moves in circle spiraling
inside themselves and it ALL
movessofast
crossing-up and melting-under
while her water breaks down
below under the stairs, next
to the garage between the two
Great sphinxes no it doesn't I
won't cry
Your wrong you own it
because you always almost never
find delight in the bells who hum
indiscrimately dividing siamese
tulip bulbs ironically yelping
(out loud) rather than silent like
two lips that bulge
twitch it goes right behind when
you looked out
the corner of your eye white tail just
disappearing and That thought is gone
forever you sometimes manipulate
your self next to all the others
It isn't gone but he'll never admit
it he's never always
correct rulering everyone's
personalities. into bologna
and you alwaysalways you thought
but rhapsodied her way into and
no One knows who he means Anymore, Anyway.
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 5:47 PM UTC
Yesterday I freaked out.
She told me to breathe.
But that didn't make sense.
I breath all the time.
At least if I held my breath,
I could get high off of it.
I once met a guy who was high on life
He ate the sun
And bathed in the wind
He might have worn tree bark
But I think he was just *****
He said in order to be one with yourself
You have to be one with all.
I don't think anyone wants to be one with
Themselves
We love other people's attention to much.
Thats why we stand in front of a mirror and list our flaws
That way we actually have something to talk about
I could bend over backwards to look
But all I'd see is everything upside down
I don't like being upside down
Cuz I know the other way is right side up
I don't like the other way
I like my way
Its luxury of design
I draw my life...sometimes there is sketch marks
But that's cuz I'm not a printer.
I don't particularly care for printers.
They make odd noises that sound too much
Like invader robots.
I've seen too many machine rising movies.
And I think I have seen the printer glare at me.
Probably cuz I kicked it.
It printed obscenities at me.
Speaking of obscene
You're probably wondering if this little piece of writing
Has a purpose.
Without further suspense I'm glad to announce it doesn't.
Why you even read it I couldn't begin to answer.
Why I wrote it is as mysterious as bologna.
I don't have much time left to write.
Probably a good thing because I don't have much
Write left to time.
But I implore that if you have read this that if any of it made
Sense.
Its about time to switch therapists.
Mar 26, 2011
Mar 26, 2011 at 3:57 PM UTC
All this trailer park breath makes me feel sticky on the inside... I feel a little violated.I have never smelled poverty pass between someones lips before now.Everyone is hungry ,but someone spent the food stamps on energy drinks ,bologna and a star crunch... so they say. There are ***** babies everywhere! What breed are these heathens being forced out of? How is it possible to have so many children of a similar age? Their hair looked like ****** tails. Most all of them where naked with little *** belly's. In between the mumbles and incoherent English of the children I could hear an elderly woman in the back room of the trailer saying over and over "the Government will pay for the housing." Thinking things could not get stranger I hear the creak of the front door. A hairy man enters the room wearing cut off shorts ,a tied up shirt ,a straw cowboy hat ,and neon pink lipstick. Lost for words I stare. He walks over leans and whispers " I was molested." ,and then crunches a cockroach that was running across the floor with his over sized boots. He scrapes the brown mess off on a ***** naked baby doll and then walks back out the door. It was at that moment that I prayed that God would remove this tragedy. How could this monstrosity go unnoticed? I am completely saturated with pity and disgust...
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 6:29 AM UTC
My thoughts are dabbled
across the floor
My memory lies beneath the sink
with the must and the Brillo pads
I flushed my attitude down the john
I think the dog is chewing on my heart
Or buried it someplace
My understanding is somewhere behind the couch
And God, who knows where my self-confidence is
I left my laugh in the hamper
along with my shriveled grin
I think ended up lending out my pride
to the neighbor who never returns things
Oh, the cat must have hacked up on my dreams
I think that's my intelligence somewhere
between the stale Bologna and brandy
And I know that my tolerance
is strewn from the staircase
That must be my willingness
that's collecting mold
I'm pretty sure that's my perseverance
behind the broken lamp post
And is that my trust
underneath that piece of toast
Wait, I think that's my voice
crashing dishes
Or is that my happiness
that's tearing up floorboards
It could be my tranquility
that's tracking dirt in
Are those my wishes
that's tipping over furniture
I can't quiet tell if that's my dignity
or individuality under one of those shoes
Well, whatever it is, I think it's moving
There's a bunch more clutter lying around
and quite a bit more positivity that needs re-homing
I oughta think about cleaning up
but for now
I'll sweep it under the
carpet
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 12:21 AM UTC
Felonious bologna spread
sweet meaning lips to air
through air to ear.
Good kids grew up framed
Bad kids grew up changed
Zip burnt bone butts
Sweep the back patio
Procure snap lights
Glow sticks in darkness
Vibration received
One hand on the other's trail
White-blue red-pink
Write names with innate
Shapes in muscle memory
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 5:11 AM UTC
**** Leeches
I saw one of the guys who live up the road from me,
sleeping on his front porch today as I drove by.
He was leaned back in an old recliner,
half smiling, eyes closed,
sitting in the only area
where there was currently shade
on the old porch of the shambled house.
There are four who live there.
all in their forties or fifties.
Three with white beards, one without.
Front door always open. Windows always open.
No screens. Cats lounging around in the sun.
Two couches and another recliner line the porch,
shoved back against the wall,
waiting for the eastern sun to rise a little higher
to put it all in shade.
They’ll all be out there eventually.
Common leeches of society.
Sitting there laughing,
beers in hand,
telling the same stories
they’ve probably each heard hundreds of times.
**** leeches.
Always smiling and laughing.
Enjoying life and not worrying
about car payments and credit cards
or payments on millions of materialistic possessions
they’re supposed to dream of having
as society demands.
**** leeches.
Always waving and being friendly
when I drive by.
Always taking the time to say hello
and ask me how I’m doing
when I take my morning walk,
or sometimes my afternoon walk.
**** leeches.
Never once have they invited me
to eat steaks and shrimp
I was told they eat every day,
at the tax payers expense.
They just sit there,
eating bologna sandwiches
and drinking beer,
enjoying life.
How dare they rub it in
and mock society
showing off their happiness
the way they do.
**** leeches.
JSM 8/3/17
Aug 3, 2017
Aug 3, 2017 at 12:18 PM UTC
*I'll eat fried bologna sandwiches
and drink your watered down whiskey
Give me cotton sheets and cheap concert
seats
Morning biscuits and gravy ,
A Chilton and a wrench ,
A tractor and a plow
Good old fashioned hand to tool
" know how*"
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 7:36 PM UTC
A product of an given environment.
A democracy being ran by tyrants
A offer of change..
Jesus Christ is hiring
Spiritually jobless cause the worlds firing..
Only thing worst is death and that fire pit..
But my Lord is a fireman..
With living water..
For you that fire could be a mist..
But know that hell is not a myth..
Know that heaven is at hand come on take sip..
Matter of fact take a gulp.
My Christ the sacrifice his blood
Overflows like a flood...
Talking oceans beyond a gulf..
Move mountains he can swift a coast..
Strength of the uttermost..
My stewardable host..
Came down to earth yes he left his post..
Just to have his flesh left on a post..
A passion that no other being could
fathom ..
the True definition of compassion..
He took on all our sin Nothing was rationed ...
His beard striped off..
His bones exposed..
His feet n hands left with holes..
Extreme bleeding..
Yes beaten to his skeletal system no x-ray was needed..
Not one fracture..
He took it all for us our true Master.
Damaged beyond human appearance..
How can u not be down in allegiance
With the Christ of this World
The only being to embody all that is right in this World..
Yet we hold on to darkness like he not the light to this World..
He died for us Yes he fought the good fight for this World..
We are to be his bride
Yes the church but Look at us yet he still won't pick another girl..
We cheat on him..
Our selfish desires
We beat on him..
Oh how we conspire..
To destroy the truth..
Yet we need to cling to it like Ruth..
Did to Naomi..
And react better when rebuke by a pony..
Stop dancing around the truth like its going to result in a Tony ..
Award..
Too many people are phoney
Randomly comprised like what resides in bologna
I am down with Christ .. Geronimo
See the signs of his coming its almost time to go...
..
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 9:44 AM UTC
It started with a devious question
And the answer was clear
To all
But a curious faction
Fueled by fear,
With the means to concoct
An Orwellian plot
That rendered hate normal,
Like bible study.
Let the Right say, 'Amen'.
"She should be in jail," said
A lady in the deli
With a red cap
And matching tee.
Her eyes spewed fire;
Mine stayed on the menu.
Bypassing the bologna,
I ordered turkey on rye,
To Go.
I had a revolution to catch.
One I'd missed like the polls
On Election Eve.
Dylan shot nine,
Dead.
Sparing one to spread the news
And start a race riot
Before Obama takes away our guns.
Then Vladimir bombed
A city Gary didn't know
But no one asked Don.
"I like you," said one tyrant
To another.
"But I despise Fidel, CNN and ObamaCare.
They are all dead to me."
We heard the lie.
Of the grand Muslim celebration in Jersey
After the towers fell.
And a million more.
Yet the tide of deaf ears kept growing,
Engulfing US in a tsunami
Of pussy-grabbing misogyny
That made Bill blush
And gave Hill another shocking traumatic defeat.
Women from Times Square
To Tokyo rained on his parade
And a speech spawned in 7th grade
Earned an A on FOX
And a wet sticker
Everywhere else.
Let the world say, "Impeach Him!"
~ P
#LyricalAssassination
01/21/2017
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 3:21 PM UTC