72

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.
—OS, NN

68

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.
—ERP

56

A slash, a crash—the glass is pouring out,
Into the heated waters of neglect.
His “plan” is followed by a second bout
Of claims both paranoid and incorrect.
His late-night lashings-out, with or sans robe,
Are wilder than the birds, who will not tweet
If he continues warming up the globe,
And trades the EPA for bigger fleets.
His mind lands on himself, as light is fading,
And shifts all blame to others, like a child.
As all our best protections are degrading,
He crows his trivial lies, with none beguiled.
His world seems fantasy, a separate reign,
Blind to all that breathe in his domain.
—PTL

47

“Have you no sense of decency?” demand
Those called, accused upon the witness stand,
Presumed guilty of suspect, hearsaid crimes.
A trial closed by charge reflects tense times;
Ex-president to migrant—all are victim
To unjust claims by paranoia’s dictum,
Which convicts not by jury’s best ruling,
But by a faithfulness to factions’ dueling.
Indictments spread like cracks, a sneaking fear
Of loyalties below common veneer—
To terrorism, Russia, Democrats—
If all are spies, then none are diplomats.
It’s trumped-up charges of conspiracy,
And not wiretaps, that recall McCarthy.
—LDS, ERP

 

46

First, dispute the undeniable, despite
Embarrassment. Then, claim to know of plots—
Some predecessor’s subterfuge of spite.
No evidence required—just take your shots.
You’ll soar above the petty, trivial fights
If you just peck, and tweet, and use your beak
To comment on the latest TV slights,
The failures of the press (those losers). Weak!
They say that centering yourself is best
For managing the people in your orbit—
Stay centered on yourself. Keep out the rest,
Especially the refugees. That’s it!
And if these measures don’t increase your power,
Just fly away!  Just not to your bugged tower.
—PTL

44

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

43

There’s something wrong; it’s in the wires; my head
Is throbbing, and I’m sure if we could speak
More freely I could find out what was said
In secret airports, globally, then leak
It to the media, but then, they too
Are enemies of ours, like Jesuits,
Illuminatoes, Masons, Russkies, Jews…
The evidence is there for all of it,
I know they ruined all my shows, or sent
Through airwaves frequencies designed to tune
My teeth on edge, the calls, the billions spent
To scan the messages in selfies, fake the moon–
It’s all connected at the source, I bet–
The brain, the coin, the talk, the bank, the net.
–IC