It was a matter of national security,
the President had to be informed.
But he was busy with his grooming regime,
practicing presidential poses in the mirror.
He had all the moves down pat, had almost
memorised the nuclear push button code,
and remembered who he now was.
But who was this blonde woman
who said she had come to debrief him?
Was that an innuendo? Just how
attractive was the power he had?
His money, fame and fortune?
Oh, national security. Homeland alert,
undercover cops and time to dish the dirt.
He stared at Carrie’s earlobes
tried not to look at her breasts
or ask her if he could have the pleasure,
kept his hands down by his side,
fiddling with the gadget in his pocket.
‘Mr. President, what have you done?’
The world on fire outside went white.
© Rupert M. Loydell