by Dan Campion

All earnestly detest him, so they haunt
The White House halls. “He’s such a d–nd low cuss,”
Breathes Andy hoarsely on each nightly jaunt.
“The only thing he has to fear is us,”
Spry Franklin’s chuckle echoes through the eaves.
“It’s altogether fitting we do this,”
Says Abe, all-seeing how the nation grieves.
Stunned speechless, George can only groan and hiss.
Dead presidents are deadly in their aim.
Ulysses targets Forty-Seven’s bone
Spurs, Richard spits, “I had the prior claim
On crookedness,” and Ronald mocks, “Gold throne!?”
It’s always Halloween for Don. What, sleep?
While Harry’s footsteps prowl the castle keep?