The Lost President

The Lost President Poor George, the president, deserted by foe and friends, roaming the corridor of his big white house like a ghost of yesterday. Cry he does and says to his wife: Why, have they forsaken me? she cradles him in her arms and says: “there, there George don’t mind them, you kept the braying enemy away for eight years, and in time a street will bear your name, you can be sure of that” Reassured George get on his bike and cycles from eight to nine, but since the morning news doesn’t mention his name and there is talk of a Moslem called Obama he frets again, till a flunky tells him he is still the president.