Who Would Vote For Old Brittlebones? Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

Could it possibly, really be true?
that it matters not just what you do?
Blue of collar or white
it will be as of right
that you choose from your mates the IQ.

Take the man who has reigned with his fiddle
with a pin for a brain in the middle
made decisions at once
with a face like a dunce
each new day was for Dubya a riddle.

Who would vote for a man of such might
in the chandelier he's a dim light,
Let me tell you my friends
you could pick up the Bends
just descending to that lofty height.

He attracts the severely neglected,
that's the ones who the gods have rejected.
There they sit and they stare
with no brainstorms to share
as no gray cells were ever detected.

Just a word about brittlebones Cane,
he is close to the edge though still vain,
as he dances his dance
in high hopes of a chance
he's oblivious to all the disdain.

You remember the words of Da Gama?
I am here he pronounced, without drama.
And he died on the day
that his Lord came to say
there will be a black man named Obama.

Just to clarify, God wrote quatrains,
he had Gallic blue blood in his veins.
Nostradamus he was
and he wrote 'there is cause,
that your time is all up John McCain.'