April 11, 2017

Poetry: The self-love song of J. Donald Trump

With apologies, or none, to T.S. Eliot:

As I get older,
After I dare to eat a peach,
I shall lead a life of noisy desperation. ..
Is it the dye from Trump’s hair
That makes me so dare?
But I shall part my coif in kind,
As if covering a big behind.
I shall wear overlong neckties
And blink my eyes as if full of sties.
I am not Hillary Princess,
But come from the dead, I am Lazarus.
I shall preach a life of noisy socialism.

In the room cheap help come and go
Talking of no one else, o great gringo.

Let us go then, you and I, 
While the American public
is etherized in the sky.
Let us go, through resistant streets,
The sophistic retreats
Of endless days in too-long think tanks
Filled with neoliberals, friends of big banks.
Do not ask “Why do they?”

Just tell them to stay away.

In the room cheap help come and go
Talking of no one else, o great gringo.

The odious fog that infiltrates Beltway air
Oozed by otiose mouths from everywhere —
Nothing can stanch it; nothing can blanch it;
It oranges both friend and foe there.
Time for you and time for me
Time for both of us to flee
From this political wilderness
Such wilderness paradise not-at-all.

In the room cheap help come and go
Talking of no one else, o great gringo.

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