It must have hurt, John Tyler, to be an afterthought—
“Tippecanoe and Tyler too” got you so distraught
That you went out and had sex a lot.

You had sex and sex, then sex some more
Until you had fifteen little Tylers to adore
But the Whigs just hated you more than before.

If copious children weren’t enough to impress—
Heaps and heaps of spawn in excess—
You’d start a new nation to show your success!

So you started to draft the Confederate Constitution
Hoping to bring yourself complete absolution—
But alas, it only brought more persecution!

Luckless Tyler: your presidency was less than sublime
But at least you had a fun and sexy time.

Tyler’s birthday was March 29, so this poem is much belated.