A day after another inauspicious red letter day-
150,000 Coronavirus victims went on their way-
Donald turns away from figures that make him squirm
And focuses his GreaT mind on securing a second term.
Dons polling is of concern, despite what he does say,
From where he sits perhaps its time to kneel and pray?
Or since Roger Stone’s now free to come up with a suggestion
He’ll open the whole Democratic Election system into question?
In his empowered position Don feels a powerful need to stay,
So now’s no better time to suggest just a slight election day delay,
An election free of mail voting, who could think of anything greater?
Like his Pandemic plan Don vows he’s bound to get to it, sooner or… later.
Wallace And Vomit.
Donald sat down to do another fawning Fox interview
But Wallace tried to keep Don on the straight and true,
Don responded with his usual pouting pique and rancour-
This was not the usual unctuous behaviour of a Fox anchor!
Chris had upset the finest of well-scripted double acts,
Swiftly Don back-handed Wallace his ‘alternative facts,’
Don was petulant, peeved pissed off and confounded-
No President willingly trots out onto Fox to be hounded.
Don doesn’t wish to to illuminate, he prefers dark misdirection,
To confuse, obfuscate, divide and misrule to wangle another election,
Leaving Don sweating in the spotlight ain’t what Chris is paid to do;
Donald’s memo strongly suggests a change in Foxes personnel is due.
Who Sees A Problem?
Has our unmasked hero decided to stand up?
Donnny says he has masked up and manned up,
He says that mask makes him look like the Lone Ranger-
No more will he be laughing loonily in the face of danger.
But the Lone Ranger wore his mask to cover his eyes
Not as a medical protector but as a personal disguise,
Then, Don feared wearing a mask wouldn’t look Presidential, right?
Pushing a mouth mask up over his peepers, now don’t he look a sight?
Hey, even getting Don to consider any mask ranks as a bonus-
As his long-standing contemptuous sniffing at Corona’s shown us-
So even if he stumblingly emerges from the darkness, dimly blinking
At least it’s one baby-step on his journey out of blind blinkered thinking.
White House Woes.
‘Dear Mr President, it grieves me to say
I’m sick, so won’t be in to serve today,
I’m ever so sorry,’ your favourite valet-
‘It’s a case of Covid, I’m positively afraid.’
‘My dear Mr Vice-President Pence
I’m sick too, so you’ll have to dispense
With my dealing with the Press’s comments,’
Fake regards, Katie Miller, Press Aide.
‘Dear Ivanka, it’s your Personal Ass here,
I can no longer kowtow to your every need, I fear,
I do hope I’ve not spread more than good cheer.’
‘Good luck,’ your gofer/dogsbody/dress maid.
Lost Its Bloom.
So ex-mayor Mike’s power jump has failed,
Those high White House walls remain unscaled,
His late ill-founded but well-funded quest
Has seen a cool half billion bucks go West.
So, no Presidency for poor saintly Mike,
Too many found there’s not much to like.
For a mighty rich man it’s a humbling thought-
Even a Trump tarnished presidency cain’t be bought,
Or perhaps the Big Apple is sick of GreaT big talkers,
One old rich white ass is enough for most New Yorkers.
Mike’s taken a costly kick in the pants, and a civil censure,
His overly frisky bad cop stops still proving a risky venture.
Hear No, See No, Seek No…
A senate full of Don’s defenders grimace with success,
All smiles (and witnesses) they’ve managed to suppress,
Just so Donald won’t be tossed out of his current address,
Ask Don if Justice has been served, he’ll say ‘Damn well, yes.’
As the court rises and the Judge world-wearily sums up
Mitch sits and hopes his magical red number comes up,
If two Republicans won’t raise their hands or their bums up
They sore will when Mitch gives ’em a double thumbs up.
So Don is proclaimed innocent and he is freed to go
Dishing out fear and loathing to both friend and foe,
One thing Mitch’s
shi pitiful no-show-or-tell trial does show
Is if Bolton wants to give you a good deal on Don- just say no.
Don says he’s vibrant, strong and young,
He modestly stated this in his self -critique
Earlier this week.
To this childish delusion Don has long clung,
Yet most view our old boy as past his peak,
Practically, an antique.
Don has his guilt-edged golden tongue
Deeply, firmly wedged in his- cheek.
So to speak.
Speak Of The…
Donald stood to give his State of the Union speech,
Deep into ‘Mericans hearts and minds he’d reach,
Mike Pence sat on Don’s right, beaming with pride,
And Nancy Pelosi off to his left, the thorn in his side,
Donald’s latest pain in the breech.
As Don talked of working as one, of bipartisanship
The stout lectern trembled in his white-knuckled grip,
And when he spoke of compromise, of give and take
Both lectern and Nancy inwardly groaned ‘gimmie a break,’
Then back to familiarity Don began to slip.
Praises to his great Presidency he long and hubristically sung,
Every drop of fear about his precious border he wrung,
For eighty odd minutes he ploughed over once hallowed ground
But not Don nor his base heard that echoing empty vessel sound,
‘Nary a flicker of doubt ’bout that forked tongue.
Shut Down Till New Year.
Don sits in the dark White House alone and reminisces
Far from his Mar-a-Lago home and his loving missus,
Thinking of what good deeds he’s accomplished in ’18,
Then, of what a wondrous year it could have been.
He turned up the rhetoric at all his rallies
And turned his back on all of our allies.
Those wise-as advisers who came in, so highly vaunted
Left, at his disposal, eyes wide, downcast or haunted,
He’s disgusted his once trusted Lawyer keeps sayin’ he’s lying,
And just why must my learned counsel Mueller keep prying?
I’m all in favour of free speech
But I don’t care to hear ‘impeach.’
Back in ’16 I made a solemn promise I have yet to fulfill,
To build my wall and hand Mexico the six-billion-dollar bill,
It grieves me greatly, friends and neighbours, if I may say so,
To get El Presidente’s middle finger but not one single peso.
Hopefully, soon, good government will resume
Even allowing for the elephant in the room.
I’m sat at the White House, all alone,
Oh, poor pitiful me,
Just me, at Christmas, I with my phone,
Oh, poor lonesome me.
Being Prez ain’t all tinsel and glitter
Even for wonderful me,
All I have is my GreaT thoughts and Twitter
To accompany me…
Yes, I’m missing out on Melania’s home-cooked meal
Which disagrees with me,
But fortuitously, I’ve worked out a hell of a deal
‘Tween McDonalds and me.
This Christmas I’ve no Kelly, no Mattis
To stifle magnificent me
On troops, policy and other trifling matters,
Oh, impulsive impetuous me.
Here I’m free from their ever-ongoing discussion
That soooooo bores me,
They might as well talk turkey in Chinese- or Russian,
It’s all Greek to me.
Here I’m free of constraints from one and all,
Free to think of only me,
As governments shut down, and my stocks fall
I sit here and ponder at the wonder about me.