Obama shakes her manicured <br />di-a-phoretic hand. <br />A hand that righlty has endured <br />a million handshakes, a n d <br />how many felt the vibes of flesh <br />so full of rank deception, <br />who saw the drapes of tricky mesh <br />a woman of subreption. <br /> <br />Obama, black and well-denied, <br />he drinks right from the bottle, <br />all wines are suited for this ride, <br />he will control the throttle. <br />Where wine goes in though, it does change, <br />to water it converts. <br />His re-assurances are strange, <br />his face? It really hurts. <br /> <br />That leaves McCain, the man who flies <br />off any handle gladly, <br />his women often wear black eyes, <br />that's when he treats them badly. <br />All three would relish the rebuke <br />they'd send to all the darkies, <br />Iran will have its genuine nuke, <br />the hell with words and sparkies. <br /> <br />What will you do, my Yankee friends? <br />Could we just vote for Yogi? <br />I cannot tell you how it ends, <br />might get that mean old foagy.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/elections-3/
