Middle East War Out Jimmy’s PeanutMobile Courtesy Orlando Sentinel

Death Race 2024

Every twenty years there is held in this place,

the almost dead presidents race.

They get together on a cold windy beach,

to compete for the prize within their reach.

This year the contenders rose before dawn,

before spring breakers or 500 race was on.

At the Daytona Beach to race to the end,

like the jalopies they drove around the bend.

Of the world as we know it and off the end.

Who would win the race, it would depend.

This year, the contenders were easy to spot,

all of the likely age, but Barack was not.

He was not experienced or wise enough,

to enter with the others in a race so tough.

With Bill, Dubya, Donald, Joe and Jimmy,

for winning this race was no easy, gimme.

Bill came riding on a rogue named Hope,

Dubya relied on a longhorn at a lope.

The Donald had a confiscated helicopter,

Joe had an 18 wheeler, Teamsters, the Pope.

They all laughed at Jimmy's peanutmobile,

burning genuine renewable peanut boil.

But he was the dark horse to win this race,

the oldest and wisest in the wholy place.

The race started with a furious pace,

where the Donald's bellow led the chase,

all up and down the beach his sunoranged face,

scattering spring breakers' from their peace.

But he was disqualified for defrauding the end.

Bill had too many harassment cases to mend.

Dubya's ride got dehorned, couldn't fend.

Joe's big rig broke down and passed wind.

Slow wins the race has always been true .

Jimmy and his slow boat cruised right on through.

Left nary a mark on the pristine beach sand,

sailed to the finish line with oblivion on hand.

Who may win in twenty years more is anyone's guess,

they might all pass off into oblivion leaving this mess.

Copyright 2024 © Ronald W. Hull

2/22/24

You can read and print this poem at my website here.