She stands there: pale and tight-lipped, eyes a’twitch
and chides Repugs for entering Iraq,
yet vows to 'stay the course'. This Hawkish bitch
is grazing with the Halliburton Pack.
Poor Chelsea. How can anyone not squirm
on her behalf. No private life. No fun.
And let us not forget that wretched perm
her dorky mom condoned. A cloistered nun
would be a hipper mother. Why, oh why
do power junkies never go away?
This evil broad is Iron Lady Sly
and phonier then Bill on Veteran’s Day.
Ms. Clinton: take a breather. Get a clue.
And grow a damn vagina. Peace. Adieu.
Leeanndra O'Lear
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/012-hillary-clinton-get-out-of-my-face-sonnet/
