Here is a poem from the published poetry collection “Psychoanalytic Celebrity Poems”

Barack Obama

I imagine us smoking weed,
you with your Afro and me with my Jew-fro.

Brothers from a different mother,
we talk about our parents:
my father was not a goat hoarder,
my mother won’t eat goat cheese.

I light up another bowl,
the smoke curling around our fro-y hair.

You ask me,
what do you think about Benghazi?
I take a hit from the bong,
Who’s Ben Ghazi, and
does he party?

What about the drones?
He asks.

I take another hit,
Do they deliver pizza?

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