The Team

a poem from Ale 81 Inn field correspondent, Ford Wenty


She don’t look like Pocahontas

Her ego blots out the Sun

She well and truly wants us

to believe that she’s the one

The crazy one, Larry David’s foil

running out of things to promise

Raise the cry, no blood for oil

I guess we’ll all be eating hummus

Then there’s skater-boy (don’t get me started)

that emasculated male

Took the stage and only farted

Watch his polling numbers sail

And Kamala, well she’s Kamala

Get it done without a hitch

She’ll deliver Shangri-La

She’s Willie’s little bitch

But they’ll all feel the wrath of CONG

the guy with blood in his eye

They say he just does not belong

that Creepy Old Neighbor Guy

Yes old dogs can learn new tricks

Theres a new slogan to be seen

The failing campaign has found a fix

Brother, can you spare some green?