Two years later on, The Donald,
now the White House resident,
Connoisseur of “food” from Ronald,
Golden Arches president,
Watches TV, Tweets and twitters,
Giving half the world the jitters,
Fingers of his tiny hands
(Stroking military glands)
All too near The Big Red Button.
“Fire and Fury,” piss-poor prose,
Kim Jong-un a “bloody nose.”
Swills his Diet Coke, a glutton.
Tax cuts for the One Percent.
Working poor can't pay the rent.
Meanwhile, You-Know-Her, defeated
By a TV game-show host
Can't accept. Claims she was cheated.
Voters, hating her the most,
Given two repulsive “choices”
(Neither who will heed their voices)
Chose the “newer,” “fresher” fraud.
Democrats heard straight from GAWD
(Passed down through the corporations,
Tell Aviv and Wall Street, too):
“Ask the oligarchs their view.
Then solicit bribes ('donations').
Last: blame Vladimir for Don.
Stick to that and don't move on.”
Take a poll. See if it's raining.
Just don't go outside. It's wet.
Then back to non-stop camaigning.
Them or Them is what you get.
“Them” means Genghis Khan, gorilla,
Or, the also-Right Atilla:
Hen, not Hun, the Scourge of Good.
Nests in Money's neighborhood.
Lays eggs for the Khan's consumption.
Clucks and glares to look real tough.
Never quite right-wing enough.
Lacking any grit or gumption,
“Fights” to lose. The Right will win.
Tag-Team Twosome: Out or In.
Michael Murry, "The Misfortune Teller," Copyright © 2018