Week One: Trump’s inauguration occurred.
Week Two: Maelstrom in airports was upraised.
Week Three: A halt on the ban was ordered.
Week Four: Flynn resigned and suspicion raised.
Week Five: McMaster is now “in like Flynn.”
Week Six: Trump delivered his first address.
Week Seven: Full of claimed wiretappin’.
Week Eight: Trump declared others had transgressed.
Week Nine: Trump validated NASA’s bill.
Week Ten: He signed to abolish NEPA.
Now citizens await Donald’s next kill,
In fear of what he might next throw away.
Nation’s leader: a brutal autocrat
Taking office as an aristocrat.
Q: “How come no poet was chosen to speak
at your inauguration, Mr. Trump?”
A: “I chose, I asked, I called three times that week.
We figured that she’d give the crowd a bump.
Just think: a woman, and what’s more, a black.
Her way with words I hear is great, just great.
I don’t know why she never called us back.
I’m not a guy who likes to have to wait.
I’d say I gave the most poetic speech,
With words like ‘winning like never before.’
‘Scattered tombstones’ got tons of thumbs-up tweets,
And ‘‘Merica First!’ made them chant for more.
Yeah, she might’ve written an okay poem
But Maya Angeloujust wasn’t home.”
To people of our world my thanks to you,
Obama and his staff who passed the throne—
Though once controlled by foreigners like you,
Power lies now in huge hands of my own.
The censorship of the past: forgotten!
We’ll speak our minds and boldly inquire.
Exported will those be from nations rotten—
All products tariffed, all Americans hired.
As the Bible so infallibly has shared,
God’s people—us—must fight for first, united.
American liberty is hereby declared;
Let rapists and killers stay divided.
Under my thumb all chains will break;
Until America great, again, we make.
Impossible one day is farce the next,
Till farce by fiction’s force makes real the thought;
Each imp perverse his day will finally get,
And show reality the show shows not.
I watched the TV swear, the people static,
The monuments inspire, the leaders stone.
I saw procedures once thought automatic
Hang on their words, and by their words atone.
I heard, from half the people, angry humor,
Their jokes become a rally, then a cry
Of retribution, gloomy in its glamour,
A gleeful poke, stuck in a neighbor’s eye.
Live? History is also what will laugh
When Saturday, and night, come true at last.