Mr. President, this letter is chicken feed,
worthless words in a book you won’t read.
The people will wash your mouth with soap.
Thanks to the rule of law there is still hope.
Liar, liar, fair is foul and foul is fair.
My-Country-Tis-of-Thee needs fresh air.
40% of the nation thinks creation
came 5,000 years before aviation.
Given Putin’s hand and foot in our election,
in the ballroom of the world, I see
you dancing, cheek to cheek with Putin, the Kazatsky.
With Russian spies you have a tie,
not for Father’s Day but for policy.
Did Putin give you millions on or under the table?
It seems you give him aid and comfort when you’re able.
Is ruble laundering a capital gain,
a loan, bloody dirty water, or something in between?
The KKK honored you for turning a trick
in Charlottesville and Capital District.
I think you tell God fake news, if you pray—
God’s an inside trader, come what may.
Far from Alabama, on France’s middle-left,
Proudhon, boating on the Seine
near Notre Dame, wrote “property is theft.”
Thanks to the rainbow of free enterprise,
with the help of poets who are God’s spies
you may be fired for the crime of collusion.
“Impeachment” is a kind word in our Constitution.
I thank you for your pubic, I mean public service.
In your bankrupt casino, God played dice.
Wind and sunshine are bad for business when there’s coal,
fracking, Mobil, and Russian hacking.
For a sweet some love strawberry, some pistachio,
your buddy accused your buddy of auto-fellatio.
You are the frankfurter in your own roll.
I won’t pass the buck,
I don’t know if you are a putz or schmuck.
My obscenities are serious disrespect
for one who, a genius, self-genuflects.
I give you the finger: my thumbs down, not up.
It seems our democracy is still a pup,
it has rabies, not fleas, but there is a cure.
Simple honesty is the manure
of freedom. We must re-culturalize.
When infants open their eyes,
they must be born to truth that is self-evident.
The 3/5 Clause was a deadly sin,
caused your Electoral College win.
Cradle rights are fought for, not heaven sent,
weeping is protected by the First Amendment.
The union is us, Lincoln is not Lazarus.
Love has a trade deficit.
Obamacare is sic transit.
You are a knife at America’s throat—
sharpened to cut out the Black and Latin vote.
We must practice freedom and equality,
practice, practice, practice like piano and guitar,
because that’s what makes us who we are.
(Alas, the joys of fascism are not far,
you can start a half-hour World War.
Facing impeachment, c’est la guerre,
drop an atom bomb here and there).
Princely Muslims in your Mar-a-Lago pool,
you say we must be kind only to be cruel.
You are the king of Queens, and Palm Beach.
Your courtiers think in doggerel
that sonnets and terza rima are hate speech.
Molière is a pimple in your hair,
the poor, old, and disabled are absurd,
the least among us—absurd.
You hold a “football,” Putin runs interference.
Your eyes on the score bawd, on your face
the exaggerated vanity of ignorance.
I read the words of the Preacher:
vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher,
all is vanity. A golf course is a wise teacher.
Judgment Day, the Lord won’t let you take a mulligan
(an extra stroke allowed after a poor shot in golf
not counted on your score card).
Enough, Donald, from Florida to Maine,
thou hast cleft our hearts in twain.
Let them eat cake, and drink champagne.
Our election and noodles are free of gluten,
you don’t want them free of Vladimir Putin.
After a change of address, please wear a leaf
over the fake news of your naked life.
May you play golf for the rest of your life.
Put money in thy purse.
Things are getting worse, worse, worse.
Music changes history a little, is not simply entertainment.
The present is terse, the meek shall inherit the earth,
they rent, own nothing. God doesn’t vote. Death
is a condominium with many apartments.
Here’s mud in your eye Mr. President.
You are a sleeping beauty, you make me puke.
you are awakened by a kiss of David Duke.
These words mean no more to you than “and” or “but,”
but in my barbershop, I’ve given you a haircut.
To pardon a criminal sheriff to please the base
ensures you an honored place in Hell.
Satan vacations in Hell at a Trump hotel
where everyone who looks in the mirror sees Donald’s face.
With Putin and Stalin’s ghost at your table, you say grace.