Where's my president?™

A 4:20 wink stretched over a real civic question. The citizen is awake and asking — and the chair is empty. Not the president, the office in the abstract; my president, the one who is supposed to answer the people who are up asking. Where is he when the room is awake, when the record wants a reply, when the open chair has been sitting empty this whole time? The joke carries the accountability the way the whole house does — comedy on the outside, the demand for an answer as its load-bearing pants. Say it light; mean it heavy. Aimed party-blind at any officeholder who takes the title and skips the answering. Kin: Truth or Dare (the empty chair), Ask for his retirement, the future will debate me. (His coin — machine's read, refine to his.)