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Yes we cannot wait until you’ve withdrawn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…
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Okay, I feel better now. I am sorry about that, but this guy might be my new Dick Cheney. I just think that when a small piece of evil lodges inside your brain, it is better to drain the infection before your head swells up and pops like a giant zit. Besides, once I started unleashing my pent-up rage, I discovered that the real challenge of this piece was not channeling the anger… no… it was trying to see if I could actually do a fairly long poem where I rhymed every other line with Don and Trump and still have it make sense. I know he hates to be called Don, but if you can come up with any good rhymes for Donald, you are better with words than I am.
*****
Yes, I know I already posted this when he first entered the race, but it still holds up…
Pouring My Art Out 