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The president is coming (a poem of cliches)


The president is coming and he's

standing tall.

He is walking very slowly down a

marbled hall.

The busts of other presidents are

standing there.

And each of them is giving him

a stony stare.

He is out to lunch.

He is off to war.

He doesn't have a clue what he is

looking for.

He has fouled his nest.

He has cooked his goose.

He's as steady as a cannon that is

on the loose.

The president is coming, every inch a king.

There's a bee in his bonnet, like a

bird on the wing.

He's a fish out of water, he's a flash

in the pan.

He's his own worst enemy,

a self-made man.

He has eyes of fire.

He has feet of clay.

He is up a creek at the break of day.

He has spiked his guns.

He has burned his fuse.

He has blown his wad, he has paid his dues.

The president is standing with his back

to the wall.

He's a pillar of the church and has a lot

of gall.

He is cock of the walk, he's the rock

of Gibraltar.

He's been led to water, he's been led

to the altar.

From the ends of the earth

He has made his case.

He's achieved his crowning glory with

' a fall from grace.

He has brought home the bacon.

He has brought home the war.

He's the apple of our eye and rotten

to the core.

He's a man of straw.

He is dead and gone.

It's a coup de grace with a

' fine-toothed comb.

The president is coming and he's

up to snuff.

He has had his cake and eaten it

and that's enough.

In the heat of the moment, in the public eye,

He's American, American as apple pie.

He is up for grabs.

He's a real nice guy.

He is somebody who has a lot of fish to fry.

He is off his nut.

He is off his feed.

He's an unweeded garden that has gone

to seed.

The president is coming with a bone to pick.

It's the almighty dollar, and it makes

him sick.

He has milked a dead horse. He has walked

the last mile.

He is right on target and he's right in style.

He could go for broke.

He could break the ice.

He could make the nation's future

( with a roll of the dice.

He's no spring chicken.

He's a tough old bird.

He lies like a rug but he has kept his word.

The president is coming and he's seeing red.

There's a fly in his ointment like a hole

in the head.

He has gone whole hog in the dead of night.

He's in an awkward position but the

time is right.

It is touch and go.

It is tooth and nail

And suddenly he finds he is beyond the pale.

He has shot his bolt.

It was short and sweet.

He is coming to the point where he

admits defeat.

The president is coming and he's

on cloud nine.

He's consulted with the stars

' and he is feeling fine.

With one foot in his mouth

) and one foot in the grave

In the land of the free and the home

of the brave --

Now his ship is in

But he's out to sea

He's beyond the seething masses of


He has heard the drums.

He has seen the light.

He has smelled a rat, and now it's

time to say good night.

Katherine Greene Lewis is a poet living in St. Paul, Minn.

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