© 1 October 2020, the Griot Poet
That wasn’t a debate.
That was a battle between light and darkness: the angelic and
demonic,
Obnoxiously shouting and spewing spit,
From a clown primate slinging shit,
Hope Hicks positive for Coronavirus,
Biden at an age he could be hit,
Evil incarnate denigrates another “norm,”
He might as well put on his pitchfork and horns,
Trying to get his opponent to stutter, stumbling in scorn,
Of the judgment, one came to debate and compete,
The other, trying to stay out of jail free,
Joe is a man of tragedy,
More than once steeling his back,
Losing his wife and daughter in a car wreck,
Instantly becoming Senator,
And single dad,
To Hunter and Beau,
His boys that he loved so,
Beau lost to cancer a few years ago,
Hunter had his struggles with drugs, so
Cannon fodder for the orange marauder,
Joe calls each of his grandkids to tell them, “I love you,”
“Stable genius”
Gives mushroom sperm donations,
Then wanders away
Like a Siberian polar bear,
Disdains his children,
Doesn’t know his grandchildren's names,
If he begins his “quarantine process”
Does this means canceling events:
Rallies,
And moribund “presidential debates”
That won’t move the needle one wit,
This isn’t Democratic or Republican,
This is logic, or lunatic,
Masks, or spewing spit,
Light, or darkness,
Angelic, or demonic,
Democracy, or fascism,
Stability is far better than anarchy,
Or racist, Pyrrhic victories,
My advice to him on Twitter flew:
Drink bleach.
Shine a light up your ass.
Quarantine at Rikers.
“I don’t really care, do u?”
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