For an embattled President is it that old familial feeling?

Son Of A Gun.

It’s tense around the Presidents inner sanctum,
Lately Donald’s been throwing the odd tantrum,
Criticism of his tweeting is bound to get his ire up,
But mention Russian meddling and see Don really fire up.

Fealty and loyalty to El Presidente is a prerequisite,
And that’s not too much to ask of mere hirelings, is it?
But doubt him and he’ll stomp around till the walls shake-
Don’t talk of walls now though, that’s no borderline mistake.

On tippy toe, ever so silently round Don his serfs go-
Spicer’s reduced to blinking once for yes, twice for no,
Lately family, like Ivanka, stand in and speak on his behalf,
But nepotism’s over now, Don Juniors dumber than the staff. *

* Yeah, I know, the last line is un-PC these days. Whatever.

And now the Russia story goes on and on and Don and Don.

Don, Doubling Down.

All this talk of Russians and meet-ups
Don dismisses as ‘fake news’ beat-ups,
Don treats all but Fox with contempt and scorn,
But even he knows its bad news for his first born.

Don Senior cries ‘oh Don, my son, what have you done?’
Still, Don loves his children, even this misbegotten one,
But should Don give Don a bad name
In which Don lies the blame?

Secure in the hands of the big blonde chief, we hope.

Learning Plenty At The G20.

Donald and Vladimir shook hands and sat,
Two wily leaders having a ‘diplomatic’ chat,
Don smiled and began to babble at Vladimir,
Vlad’s twisted lips looking less smile than sneer.

Don looked into Vladimir’s eyes, so blue,
Blushingly asked him if he could tell him true
That no Russian meddling had helped him win;
‘Oh, no,’ said Vlad, sneer becoming a huge grin.

So Don said ‘Vlad, that’s good enough for me,’
Who could doubt the word of someone ex-KGB?
So as the Hamburg meeting came to its conclusion
At least Don and Vlad can agree there was no collusion.

As they parted friends, Vladimir pauses and mentions
‘America and Russia should defy cold war conventions,’
What Vladimir suggests to Don sounds one Hell of a deal,
Vlad’s joint Impenetrable Cyber Security unit has vast appeal.

Chris Christie shuts down and ships out to the beach.

New Jersey Shore.

Chris Christie is sick of his budgetary restraints,
The Governor’s over hearing constituents complaints,
So while his State grinds to a halt, he is taking a break,
He’s off to the beach and they can all fu- jump in the lake.

He’s lounging out on the beach, family in tow,
His foreshore isn’t accessible to the public though,
Chris loves lazing at the beach on Independence Day
AND serving the public in his own private indulgent way.

As his approval ratings fall he’s making his stand?
By sitting in his deckchair while it sinks in the sand?
This slump does not bode well for his political outcome,
He’s not too hot as a Governor, but what a great beach bum.

Donald Trump, sensitive new-age guy. One thing about his tweets they’re straight from the hole in his chest cavity.

Thrashing Around In The Dark (Ages.)

Upon awakening from a great nights sleep I was greeted
With the latest UnPresidential tripe Donald’s tweeted,
Yet another once friendly face is now on his bad side,
Lets face it, one thing you daren’t prick is his thin hide.

Don MUST let the people know what they need to know,
Unconstrained by good sense, see those flying fingers go!

Huckabee tries valiantly to explain away his latest rant
Her mouth defends the boor’s words but her eyes can’t,
She can’t blame the Fake News Media for this- his- shit-fest,
When will the Chief give his tiny fingers and tiny mind a rest?

How can he stop those early AM manipulations he so loves?
A good Doctor might suggest tight restraints and boxing gloves.

The tale of a tape, or trying to splice and dice, to piece together the Don and Comey Comedy Show. Maybe its turning into farce?

Sound Bites.

Those tapes about Comey Trump brought up?
Just another fabrication Don thought up.

Now Don don’t like where the investigations going,
Just like his nose, Dons paranoia keeps on growing.

Now Robert Mueller may face the sack,
Bob, better shut your eyes or watch your back.

Looking up to big brother.

Night Follows Day.

He stands looking out from the double wide,
Another restless night leaving him red eyed,
So tired of the weariness that’s bone deep,
But with a mind so wired it wouldn’t sleep.

Out in the damned desert he hears a coyote cry,
Yap-yapping at a thin sallow moon up in the sky,
Slowly the echo of its brainless baying trails away,
Just another mongrel that;s overspent its stay.

How the Hell did it all come to this?
When did all the hits begin to miss?
He looks up at the moon with a silent scream;
Fading away in El Mirage, living the bad dream.

Now how he bitterly recalls the rich life he’s tasted,
The days of skating through life permanently wasted,
No more rolling past the ladies, six pack taut and trim
And knowing they were lingeringly looking back at him.

The desert wind riffled through his sun streaked hair,
He turns to to face the cooling breeze- which ain’t there,
Here, even in the bleakness of the Arizona night
The desert offers no cold comfort, no respite.

He gives a cough and then coughs again,
He’d give his right hand to see a spit of rain,
He lifts that heavy hand, drags on his cigarette
And gazes through the haze with some regret.

He’s never been one for maudlin thought
But the nights are long and days are short,
So he silently flicks the but from his hand
And watches it spark and sputter in the sand.

Those damn Marlboros have left their mark,
He muses, peering out at a night so deep and dark,
He pulls a pack from the pocket of his shirt,
In light of the surgeons report, another sure won’t hurt.