by Patricia Phillips-Batoma
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| One of the photos Lunden Roberts posted on Instagram of her daughter during a trip to Washington. |
After Maureen Dowd, “It’s Seven Grandkids, Mr. President,” The New York Times, July 8, 2023
Mr. President, for the love of God, learn to count to seven—
one boy, six girls—and include the one named Navy.
Be quick. You hold a ticket for the good old train to heaven.
You love to fist bump all of America’s little children,
except one who hopes you’ll call and waits so patiently.
Please, Joe, for God’s sake, learn to count to seven.
What’s more she’s cool. A true made-for-shades Biden.
Gift her your good name and wrap it in some empathy.
Snap to it, you hold a ticket for that good old train to heaven.
It’s embarrassing to have to give a President a lesson,
and hard truths voice themselves with such severity.
So, no more malarky, just count all the way to seven.
Once those pearlies close, you might sense some tension,
the sound of heart space, forever and forever empty.
Too late, the good old train pulls into the eternity of heaven.
Spare her the taunts, this awful earthly aggression.
Navy! Navy! Not a welcome baby! So can you maybe,
Joseph Robinette Biden, count all the way to seven?
Even presidents hold a ticket for the good old train to heaven.
one boy, six girls—and include the one named Navy.
Be quick. You hold a ticket for the good old train to heaven.
You love to fist bump all of America’s little children,
except one who hopes you’ll call and waits so patiently.
Please, Joe, for God’s sake, learn to count to seven.
What’s more she’s cool. A true made-for-shades Biden.
Gift her your good name and wrap it in some empathy.
Snap to it, you hold a ticket for that good old train to heaven.
It’s embarrassing to have to give a President a lesson,
and hard truths voice themselves with such severity.
So, no more malarky, just count all the way to seven.
Once those pearlies close, you might sense some tension,
the sound of heart space, forever and forever empty.
Too late, the good old train pulls into the eternity of heaven.
Spare her the taunts, this awful earthly aggression.
Navy! Navy! Not a welcome baby! So can you maybe,
Joseph Robinette Biden, count all the way to seven?
Even presidents hold a ticket for the good old train to heaven.
Patricia Phillips-Batoma is a writer and teacher who lives in Illinois. She has published poems in Skylight 47, An Capall Dorcha, The New Verse News, Off Course, and Spilling Cocoa over Martin Amis.
