Once again, President's Day is here and nobody bothered to tell me because practically nobody cares. This is a shame. President's Day is a holiday, and should be treated as such. With that in mind, I took quil and ink to parchment and penned the following poem to commemorate this most vital ritual of February. I hope you all gather round some children (yours or otherwise) tonight and read them this little piece of verse:
‘Twas The Morn’ of St. President’s Day, or A Visit from Robot Lincoln’
By Nat Topping
‘Twas the morn’ of St. President’s Day at my place,
I awoke in a flurry and washed off my face,
My clothing I picked off a pile on the floor,
I brushed off my teeth and I booked out the door.
I ran to the bus stop and just missed my bus
So I pondered the point of my morning-time fuss.
But twelve minutes on the next bus came around.
In a matter of moments I was office bound.
Well as I softly napped to the bus’ gentle rock,
I was snatched from my slumber in horrible shock,
When, what to my terrified eyes should appear
Than a giant Abe Lincoln in robotic gear!
I escaped to the sidewalk and watched with eyes wide
As he picked up our bus and he threw it aside.
Abe Lincoln, the leader who freed all the slaves,
For some unknown reason was back from the grave!
He pulled up a light post and with a great swat,
He turned a poor biker into nothing but snot.
And then with a tip of a huge stovepipe hat,
He declared with a growl he was looking for Nat.
While wondering why in the world it would be
That Abe Lincoln would hold so much hatred towards me
I must have done something to catch Lincoln’s sight.
He charged and I fled in a terrible fright.
I dodged in and out, through the morning-time frey,
Abe Lincoln demolished what stood in his way.
I ‘scaped round the corner and ran ‘neath the El.
But Abe Lincoln sent the whole Brown Line to hell.
I ducked down Lower Wacker and thought I could hide.
I hoped I had lost him. I let out a sigh,
When I heard a great groan and I turned ‘round to see
George Washington zombies were coming for me!
There was a whole army, a mob of undead,
With wooden made teeth and with wigs on their heads
They groaned and they shuddered and cried out for flesh,
So I set off, with gusto, arunning afresh.
I came up to the surface. Abe Lincoln was there,
With his long robot limbs and his murderous stare,
Behind me the zombies in colonial gear,
I was pretty sure untimely death must be near.
But the strangest thing ever I saw then took place
When the zombie George Washingtons saw Lincoln’s face,
They charged at the robot and with a great clatter,
They took down the monster who with a great splatter,
Crushed legions of zombies beneath all his weight.
I might have watched longer but you see I was late,
So this tragic debacle I managed to shirk,
And within fifteen minutes I made it to work.
You readers may wonder if this could be true,
Well, I swear: every word as I’m writing to you
Is exactly the way I described it to be.
But ‘They’ covered up all this, naturally.
As sure as you’re born and that prattlers prattle,
The Presidents fought a horrific battle.
So heed you this warning: prepare for dismay,
When your work doesn’t take off St. President’s Day!