It Seems So Funny and yet So Sad

The camera’s on, it must be so;
We just can’t let the old man go
In front of all without a script.
Remember last time when he slipped?
It’s just a little bit unnerving
To see reporters never swerving
From questions they were asked to ask
In front of all; it is their task.


But what would be so dangerous?
Would off-the-cuff endanger us?
Or have we all become so mute
That all new thoughts become quite moot?
I think of all past interchanges
In which my mind with yours exchanges
A thought or two that just comes up
Free thinking, not a planned setup.
When did we need a teleprompter
Or aides that hover and helicopter:
“This way, Dear Potus, you should walk;
“This way is how you now should talk.”


In front of crowds both mute and humble,
No one admits that you just mumble.
“What was that word, you once did say?”
“America’s defined this way:
“It’s ‘Asufutimaehaehfutbw’” today.
Oh! Well, that thought just went astray
Like others that you voiced aloud.
Your jumbled thoughts so pleased the crowd
Of fawning newsmen, all quite bowed,
Afraid to ask that followup,
“What did you mean, can you sum up?”


Or, “Why, dear Potus, do you need,
“A card to tell you what to read?
“Are there no ideas in your head
“That aren’t exactly what you read?”
Or, “Dear Potus, is it true
“On Pennsylvania Avenue,
“That no one asks or questions you
“On how you say you never knew,
“How Hunter’s bank account just grew?”


It seems so funny and yet so sad,
That Potus seems to get quite mad
When questions posed are questions new
Not written by his faithful crew.