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All We See Is His Diaper
If Obama presented a possibility of a feisty front he wouldn’t be leading from behind.
If he didn’t ride his three gear bike in a helmet
We wouldn’t think of him as a thirteen year old girl?
An unlucky number,
Misfortune for our own chosen rock and roll lame guitar string.
A fallen accidental angel.
Where are his training wheels?
I guess he left them with Acorn while they were fixing the vote
For him and his community organizers.
In grammar school he must have been a bully’s delight.
He dropped us from a tree,
Squirreled us with the rabies of socialistic ideology.
A fair share comes from less than a just mind.
In his Bermuda shorts he looks like the schoolboy
Who the other kids pushed around in the school yard?
A bully’s delight,
The kid who didn’t fight back.
A rhapsody of weakness,
A reflection of accommodation
Looking for a toothbrush.
After he drew the line at Syria he took out his bottle of white-out
And made all possible threats disappear before
He had to defend his braggadocio with comeuppance
From his come from behind.
As for Iran and Russia—
His only fear is that they will take him seriously and blow us away.
He has turned exceptionalism into masochism
And weakened us like the planks on a rotting ship beneath
There was magic in Coleridge.
There is surrender to angry liberalism in Obama’s constitution.
Check out David Lawrence’s poetry book, “Lane Changes,” on Amazon.com