Pudding Time

“Best moment to attack one in pudding time. A punch in his dinner.”
~Ulysses.

Blistered as a hot tomato,
Angry as a pepper sprout.
A chided child withal, with
His sixties now run out.

Balding from all the promised
Self-abuse inherent in his privileged stead,
He grabbed at all that he could find, And tore some hanks from his first wife’s head.

Gorging on baconburgers and KFC,
Thinking “cleaner” with a dirty mind,
He turned that bleached head from
Lesser things, and offered him to lead the blind.

And all the blind did listen to him,
A blank svengali on a base crusade:
“Transform us from our current body,
And once again, please make us great.”

And now he sits upon his guilty throne,
Golfing while the nation works,
Unless some shall punch him in his dinner,
And save us from his world of jerks.

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