Cow Chips In W's Punch Bowl Poem by Hubert Wilson

They're cow chips in W's punch bowl!
They float and roll!
Thin and thick -
Some the size of a brick!
Some crunchy - some chewy!
Some just gooey!
Big and small -
And, that's not all!
Many don't mesh,
Because they are really fresh!
Forget the smell!
Just don't W tell!
W thinks it has a lovely bouquet?
So he says day after day!
The White House doesn't seem too chatty,
As their bowl runneth over with cow patty!
W's staff is so loyal!
To the 'One' who thinks he's royal!
Is this why W wears cowboy boots,
Busy steppin' in figurative bovine 'fruits'?
W thinks everything's great
With his sinking ship of state!
W doesn't know fantasy from fact -
His head with this punch is fully packed!
W pretends 'it don't stink',
But would you take a drink?