Not My President's Day

Deplorable Times

'Tis a time of sheer madness, when
 all through the land
Blows a rumble and roar from a man,
  "I'm so grand."
He revels in ignorance, bigotry, "close every gate,"
   throws in misogyny, anything to bait
His mean mass of followers,
  all snug in their hate, with visions of America,
Their un-United States.
They dress in their anger and he
 in his rage,
I spring from my bed to put
 words on this page.
Away to my pc, I fly like a flash
it's Donald, it's Trump,
The Pres., with the bundle of cash,
  a miniature man with a mind
In the gutter, "Don't come down my chimney,"
 I clearly did utter.
His hair like an orange, his mouth like a guppy,
  a fake tweet comes out and even disgusts my sad puppy.
A blink of Trump's eye, a twist of his head
  confirms, yes, for sure, I have everything to dread.
Every word that he speaks signals danger ahead.
  I so want to run, hide under my bed,
When I hear him exclaim, (wish he'd drive out of sight),
 "Make America great again," I know, he's not right.
He wants to return to a time from before,
  when freedom and justice were not for the poor, and the others
All unwelcome at his White House door.

by Nancy Freedman Goldstein

in volume 6 issue 2

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