Paying Lip Service

I’m hangin’ with my buddy, Manny Macron.
He’s here for a few days and then will be gone.
We have lots to talk about during the week:
How often to hug; when to kiss on the cheek.

He will want to revisit the Paris Accord.
When I said we were dropping out – boy, was he floored.
He will also spend time to convince me Iran
Is complying with all of its nuclear plan.

He’ll share his concern about tariffs on steel;
How he hopes France will be made exempt from that deal.
We both share distress about futures with China,
Where unequal trade gives us both some angina.

But mostly, I just want to hang with my friend.
I like him so much; hope good times never end.
We hug and we kiss and we make our hands clasp.
We do it so much, sometimes our wives will gasp.

To prepare for this visit, I’ve had installed bunk beds.
We’ll talk until dawn. I don’t care what those lunkheads
May think about two grown men spending the night
In the same room: it’s nothing but sweetness and light.

The gals can go shopping, we really don’t care.
In public, we promise to look debonair.
But once it’s lights-out, things are simple and easy:
“Je serai poète et toi poésie.”