Mark, a candidate for President, who
Hatched a plot to knock off his opponent
Using one cluster bomb, maybe two,
To create a more opportune moment.
He fixed a long fuse to the table
To eliminate his foe was the plan.
The locked pair he thought would be able
To constrain that blockhead with elan.
With deadly intentions in mind,
Implications of which may seem valid,
He lay on the floor (he reclined)
Digit poised to depress, face quite palid.
He was locked in a chain of destruction,
But he blocked the fear from his brain,
And made a quick box line reduction
By brute force the boxed bomb to constrain.
But an explosion blasted the rows
And columns 'to jigsaw size pieces.
When Jellyfish fired in salvoes,
They made the floor as slippy as grease is.
To walkthrough the mess was a mission,
But his Colt 45 ruled the day.
Hed stacked boxes of live ammunition
A bivalue universal grave for his prey.
In the band of his boxers he'd hidden
A gun, or just pleased to see me?
Are you hinting, she said, Or just kiddin?
My pinned digit ? It's as plain as can be.
Changing the subject to Trebor's tables,