At yet another reporter’s behest,
Trump, yet again, is unsure what to do.
And while a curious reporter requests,
Veep realizes the President’s mistake—phew!
It’s evident on tape: order remains.
What would his reply be?  “I had no pen”?
Would Trump find blame for Democrats, again?
Or will “fake news media” be to blame?
What else will bungling White House acts not do?
That story about the wiretap is phony.
Don’t deny it, climate change is real, bro.
Chlorpyrifos is dangerous, Scotty.
Someone needs to start listening to facts,
Otherwise, there’ll be no turning back.


Contaminated by disunity,
The land, a body, creeping with new horror,
Breaks out not just within community,
But all along new lines, a rash new war.
To cross these borders you must now surmount
Religion, region—differences exposed.
Before new standards, foreigners amount
To nothing; having nothing, they’re disposed.
Contagion spreads to longtime residents,
And quarantined are those from suspect places;
The orders from imperial residence:
Do not distinguish symptoms, only faces.
Until who’s well, or ill, cannot be vetted
And all the world is sick, all nations threatened.


On the day Creation set aside for rest,
This man, after one hebdomad of rule,
Enacted from his phobia, a test
Both unjust and unusually cruel.
For him, the heinous actions of a few
Have caused the Muslim faith to be defiled;
His amnesty is offered only to
Believers in Abraham’s other child.
As Christians, from American church steeples,
Welcome strangers in, like Good Samaritans,
Trump reviles these unlucky, displaced peoples
And claims “they’ll never be Americans!”
These emigrants now grounded between borders,
Sans hope or home, at the wall of Trump’s orders.


How is it that the clock has been reversed,
Back to a time of silence, fear, and plight?
Now bound by decisions most perverse,
The powerless deprived of human rights.
Enclosed inside a fortress of male gaze,
Trump grimly grants a global rule of gag.
All criticisms women might inveigh
Do little to preclude his privileged brags.
Though we may join in sisterhood for justice,
His “us” is plural him, not she or we.
The fight that will not end may now seem aimless,
But that power’s end is my own body.
And of that power, Trump, do not misuse,
For every woman keeps the right to choose.