Just yesterday, a predecessor framed:
Trump tried the notion that his phone was tapped.
His finances are secret yet, for shame,
But not his crackpot slander via app.
Obama’s standard-bearer shouted, “False!”
Trump’s aides denied concurrence with his claim.
And, wielding typo-riddled tweets, Trump waltzed
Right on, to make a federal case—insane!
The waxing gyre of fake news cycles spins,
He lobs new propositions sans citation,
Dismisses press with that “You’re fired!” and grins—
The unreality show that is our nation!
And though tweets are not yet state’s evidence,
His fabricated lies spread pestilence.
— OS, NN, JD
This lineup change may make a “yuuge” shift,
Keep Donald up to bat for future swings.
To some it will be home run–others, miss–
A friendly court so close, he sees its stitching.
Ted Cruz, the bleachers play, is too far out;
The choices now all come from central casting.
And even here, Trump looks for kith to kin,
Though narrow picks’ effects may well be lasting.
Today we meet the problems yet to come,
Before the pitch, there’s outrage in the stands.
The wind-up done, the crowd begins to hum:
Will this be curve, or fast one, from small hands?
A knuckleball whose path cannot be guessed,
Arrives at home, by voters’ rooting blessed.
A man of business, TV, and spray tans
Is now in office. He has big—huge—plans.
Now younger hands will handle business facets—
Without his power they’d fumble his assets.
They met the Japanese; with equal ease,
They tagged along to meet the tech industry.
When leaders discuss regulation’s costs,
His heirs just take their place around the trough.
He tries to make his animal farm rich.
It’s added to an ever-growing list.
Napoleon can seize what he desires.
The pigs will gain because we fight and tire,
As Spicer squeals, and expects us to buy,
“As long as market’s open, we’ll sell high.”
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.