One tweet from before the fail, one after
Distracting from the legislative slump;
While we wait for what happens hereafter,
We recount the inventory of Trump.
Ivanka’s clan escapes certain disaster,
To Aspen’s slopes, and her father’s dismay.
For Trump, repeal too arduous a task;
ACA lives to see another day.
The unprecedented demagogue speaks
Words of assurance to the populace;
He assures them of his big plans, in tweets.
There is no bottom to his pompousness.
He’s claims they’re strides to come, these grave missteps,
As dissenters berate him as inept.
—OS, NN, JD
Last evening nightmares opened up my eyes—
I dreamt of politics subject to lament—
And, hands still shaking, I met a surprise
When late-night news streamed “Madam President!”
Still stupefied, I searched, opened the blinds—
Looked out upon a world I saw anew!
Without Twitter tirades or fear-plagued minds,
This universe was too good to be true!
Walls crushed, bans gone, no “alternative facts,”
Gone Ryancare, and Russia, Dreadful Sound—
Mike Pence is past, and Spicer can RELAX,
‘Cause big old baby Donald’s not around…
Yet when I saw no one had been offended,
Reality returned and daydreams ended.
“You’re fired,” Trump declared, with certain pomp,
And 46 attorneys then resigned—
Including those to probity inclined.
Is this what Donald meant by “drain the swamp”?
We do not hear his reasons, not by tweet,
Though usually he shares his full subconscious;
Perhaps he’s finally listening to Congress
Who’ve warned that he must not his tweets delete.
The trouble with our new incumbent man
Is not quite that we don’t know his true motives
Nor even that he didn’t win the voters,
But that he doesn’t ever have a plan.
And if his mind, if mind, we’ll never know,
There’s just no telling where this term will go.
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
The Truth: where does it live now? Twitter? Press?
Can it make “FAKE NEWS” from “illegal leaks”
(Which must be true to be illegal)? Stress
Is making Logic, friend to Truth, feel weak.
Next step: to make America so great
Again that we can all be in the room
With Truth, instead of only those who hate
Our immigrants, but hum a Russian tune.
And now we hear the president will skip
The rubber-chicken roast that counts as dinner
For journalists who love a winning quip
That wields the facts against their favorite “winner.”
Trump won’t attend their party–too uncouth;
He’s fairly safe from Humor, with his Truth.
–OS, NN, JD
Another day of dining at the club—
The news brings Donald’s dinner to the rub.
A missile’s testing tests our president,
Disturbing dinner with the one percent.
The first step was to stage the blow-by-blow
Before the guests: the Mar-a-Lago show!
Our national security at stake
Could barely pull the Donald from his steak.
All in one place—the nukes and Shinzo Abe—
No need to find a SCIF—just try the entrée!
Is this how Trump will face down Kim Jong-un,
With secrets of the state played up for fun?
The only consolation from the dinner
Was that this diplomacy skipped Twitter.
Trump twists the truth through his treacherous tweets.
The howls of fallacy and stunned insult
Suffuse the airwaves, hiding his defeats,
Fears of tyranny his only result.
He falsifies the facts and swears the false
Until what’s fake is news and news is fake,
And branded fabricator by default,
He finds that lies, too, cover his mistakes.
Long backed by Cuban, cabinet’s worst delay,
Peak murder rates, and no unfriendly polls;
Clinton endorser, past crews also stayed,
Rates far from record, polls under control.
To all: seek truth beyond his looking-glass,
Lest Trump’s reflections dim our light with gas.
—LDS, PTL, ERP
His trumpet tweets: the judges’ transgressions!
My noise will live beyond this courtly cadence!
Repeated notes in all the same progressions:
Insults—fake news—the Wall—terrorists—Pence!
The judges’ cymbals clang against this canon,
Whose harsh beat tries again to split and banish;
Injunctions clap down, halting citizens’ panic,
As workers, migrants, students cease to vanish.
Through atonal commotion drums new thunder
Distracting from the belting trumpet’s croons,
The sounds of marching feet respond to blunders,
Demanding different rhythms, different tunes.
The audience, distressed, hears from these marchers,
Freedom’s music, and harmony’s departure.
—LDS, PTL, ERP
The symptoms start as stomach disagreeing
With heart, or muscles losing circulation
Where once the blood was red, a palpitation—
The eyes—or is it brain?—a narrowed seeing,
And then a fever mounts, delusion speaks
In rash outbursts, the nervous limbs go hot
Or cold, base motor functions failing, not
Under control of mind. State organs seize.
We dreamed the body politic as system,
Created by exceptional solution,
And granted deep immune response to errors
Genetic to all empire—we could list them!—
But now we dream of mortal dissolution,
And ask, is this old age, or some new terror?