One night when President Obama
Was in his quarters with Michele,
He spoke with dread of all the drama
Of bidding this place fare-thee-well.
And she replied, “Barack, stop talking
I dreamed of this, you were knocking
Me up. Our bodies intertwined;
And of our melding to one mind.
And when Obama finished crying,
She said, “Dear one, we’ll carry on.
No one will even know you’re gone!”
Then, tenderly, they started eyeing
Each other when she said, “Your black,
My white. . . look splendid in the sack!”