CANTO TWO. MIKE PENCE.
Among the councils of the trumpsmen hunkered Michael Pence.
His whited hair and candid smile hid feelings quite intense.
He felt his place as underling to Trump to be a farce;
His chance at reelection to be questionable and sparse.
From fabled Indiana, where the basketball is loved,
Pence into the broadcast field had impudently shoved.
He had been the governor, and legislator, too.
Now he just was stooging for his boss and toady crew.
The gods looked down upon him, and they laughed a bit to see
How much this Hoosier hustler did hate the word “VP.”
They seeded all his thoughts with dreams of travel to far places;
To press the flesh and meet with crisp admiring new faces.
He took his entourage to Puerto Rico to survey
The tempest-tempered island (and to tell them they must pray.)
He wondered to reporters if a moonshot from St. Croix
Would help them to recover (while he stiffed a small bellboy.)
His retinue, like suitors to Penelope of old,
Devoured ev’rything in sight with appetites made bold.
The green and torrid boscage and the silver beaches groaned
As these interlopers ordered all their quail deboned.
“Begone!” the Puerto Ricans did at last demand of Pence.
“Take your tax reform talk and your mooching staffers hence!”
And so the VP, much chagrined, and all his hungry staff,
Departed from the islands like a cloud of windblown chaff.
Back into obscurity, as Senate President,
Ambitious Michael Richard Pence petulantly went;
Kept upon a leash so short that he can only trek
To a few selected states to beg a campaign check.
(to be continued)
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