They wheeled him to the Oval Office, tie slightly askew,
Propped up by two interns while cameras withdrew.
They wired his dead hand to a stylus with tape,
Till it scrawled over laws in a slow, palsied scrape.

The live address goes sideways when his jaw won’t move on cue,
The teleprompter scrolls right past, his pupils fixed like glue.
The networks cut to anthems, blame a “server malfunction”—
The spin room calls it treason to hint at his brain’s dysfunction.

The press corps smells the rot yet echoes each official line,
“He’s leading in new ways—a stable genius by divine design.”
The aides blame the reek on “renovations, mold behind old walls,”
While senators toast “his wisdom” in chandelier-washed halls.

His handlers staged him for speeches with cue cards reversed,
So “cease every fire” read like “strike with full force.”
Three calls for restraint turned to three global wars,
And spin doctors gushed that his “backbone held course.”

At last the truth comes out: he’d been brain-dead long past,
Yet they’d signed his whole agenda—the die had been cast.
The rich praised his “legacy,” hailed it as “unsurpassed,”
While lobbyists toasted the smoothest coup at last.

They sold the courts at auction, ran a fire sale on the press,
Insisted “banana republic” meant “streamlined governance.”
Now the world’s biggest circus struts in star‑spangled drag,
With a dead man at the podium and his logo stitched on the flag.