Harry Poem by Ima Ryma

The year was 1953,
In Missouri on a highway.
A flat tire was delaying me.
A bent jack furthered that delay.
A car pulls up. A guy gets out.
He looks familiar I confess.
He says hello, and asks about
Whether he can help. I say yes.
I tell him thanks after we're done,
And remark his resemblance to
Harry Truman, son of a gun.
Grinning, the man says, 'Yes, that's true.'

'That Truman really looks like me, '
'Because I am that S.O.B.'