Tristan Robert Lange

Dead Presidents

Some people desire to be

Presidents who set

Precedents

Who make their country greater,

Or who, more than likely,

Deeply desire

To make themselves great

Again,

Presuming they ever really were.

But, did it ever occur to such a mind,

That presidents, too, are in the same bind,

As every president, king or emperor

Before them?

Alexander, who?—

Ah, yes, the Great—

And for it wait, though

He could have slayed

One for saying it,

He no longer rots

Resting in his great pit.

Shit, how about Caesar—

Not the salad

But bronze Julius?

Dead.

Nero?—

Definitively died no hero.

Marie and Louis?—

C’est un obscur cloaque

Où leurs têtes sont enfouies.

George, Thomas, Teddy, or Abe?

Black hill granite busts

After which orange Julius lusts—

Yes their stone faces groan,

Eyes roll, and faces palmed—

Dead. Immovable.

But more corruptible;

Stoned—

Bad trips included—

History continually disputed.

Within legacy, what lies?

Regardless of that mixed bag,

Nobody should be surprised,

That a dead president’s legacy

Is filled with those who loved,

And, often more

By those who despised.

It’s designed,

Future presidents,

That whichever precedents

You end up setting...

It is the presidency

That will end up setting

You

In history’s bower

Of bludgeoned bones.

© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.

First published on tristanrobertlange.com, August 10, 2026.

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