Warren should have thrown it in the ring, his hat.
Rubber chicken dinners and ten months we would have stuck it with him
July smelling of sunscreen, the campaign geared for the neighborly gusto
of good women, picnic melon, Mission figs, the local cheese and follow-up thank-yous.
I'd be a lieutenant in that corps, burnishing the leader's star
think how better we'd look, how pretty the city, how fresh the USA, what curvature the globe would spoon to, had he.
How fine-tuned a world that runs cinematically on time, cordially, but with a big stick
you need someone with panache, you need someone to explain it all that way.