Pouring My Art Out

Donald, may I call you Don?

Or would you prefer Mr. Trump?

Into the primaries you have been drawn

You say America is in a slump

As much as I would love to end up as your pawn

I’m afraid I’m not that much of a chump

I can hardly wait to see the dawn

You thing in the night that goes bump

Most of us just want to see you gone

You human-shaped camel’s hump

With your hair like a poorly manicured lawn

And you head like a rotting stump

Yes we cannot wait until you’ve withdrawn

You ambulatory garbage dump

What causes you to ramble on?

What makes you such a grump?

Your morals have been overdrawn

You spew vile like a septic tank pump

America’s not falling for your con

So go take a flying jump

If you insist on behaving like Satan’s spawn

I would like to sit down with a thump

And it’s your face I would like to sit upon

So that you can kiss my big, sweet rump…