The Sofa

There are people who consider Obama the Devil, and I confess that on occasion I was one of them. No more. Not after what happened. I was sitting on my sofa when I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye, and to my astonishment found a cool, handsome, familiar looking black man sitting next to me. He introduced himself, saying he was the Devil, and if I didn’t stop confusing him with Barack Obama he was going to get mighty pissed. And with a wag of the finger he said,

I much dislike to be compared
To one who seems to be so scared
Of tough decisions he knows must be made
A man whose judgment seems impaired
Disasters that are not repaired
I state the truth and call a spade a spade
But you look just like him, I cried
That secret sneer, so beady eyed
That I confess the Devil’s in my eyes
Respect the office, that I’ve tried
And yes it churns me up inside
To think that he’s the Devil in disguise
He smiled and said you’re not the first
To think that since the bubble burst
And people saw he’s just an empty suit
Believe me he might be the worst
The country ever has been cursed
Despite the fact Gwyn Paltrow thinks he’s cute
Ah well, he said, and rose to go
At least you know I’m real, not show
My mirror says it’s me not him as well
One day we’ll meet up down below
Be face to face and then we’ll know
And if he’s really me then what the hell

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