Night Before Doomsday
by Judith Best
It's the week before Christmas
And I've hit such a slump.
My brain just can't wrap around
Donald J. Trump.
The stockings are hung
Christmas songs fill the air,
But when I close my eyes
I see weird yellow hair.
I see two tiny hands,
And brilliant orange skin,
And the swing and the sag
Of that twice-doubled chin.
At night when I lay down
To sleep in my bed,
No visions of sugar plums
Dance in my head.
Just Trump and his sons,
And Exxon pollutin'
And secretive meetings
With Vladimir Putin.
And fake news and emails and leaks that were Wiki,
And Donald's strange words 'bout his daughter--sooo icky.
And Priebus, and Bannon,
And Goldman/Sachs bankers
And rich oil barons
Those builders of tankers.
No Donner, no Cupid,
No Prancer, no Vixen.
Just alt-Nazi parties,
And flashbacks to Nixon.
And V.P. Mike Pence
LGBT lives upended.
Leave no gay man behind.
(And that pun's intended.)
Trump went right to work.
He couldn't be fitter.
Phone calls with Taiwan
And sad rants on Twitter.
He filled up his team,
From the swamp he did drain.
And in pyramids now
We will store all our grain.
To the top of the roof,
To the top of the wall,
Now pay for it, Mexico
Pay for it all.
I'm scared it's too late
Though the vote he did lose it,
The Electoral college
Now gets to choose it.
On that January day,
That we surely must dread.
He'll swear to protect
Something he's never read.
And laying a finger
On the side of his nose
Or on some woman's hoo-hah
To the White House he goes.
And we'll hear him exclaim,
As he snuffs out our rights,
"It will all be so great. Believe me."
Good night.
(copyrighted by Judith C. Best )
And I've hit such a slump.
My brain just can't wrap around
Donald J. Trump.
The stockings are hung
Christmas songs fill the air,
But when I close my eyes
I see weird yellow hair.
I see two tiny hands,
And brilliant orange skin,
And the swing and the sag
Of that twice-doubled chin.
At night when I lay down
To sleep in my bed,
No visions of sugar plums
Dance in my head.
Just Trump and his sons,
And Exxon pollutin'
And secretive meetings
With Vladimir Putin.
And fake news and emails and leaks that were Wiki,
And Donald's strange words 'bout his daughter--sooo icky.
And Priebus, and Bannon,
And Goldman/Sachs bankers
And rich oil barons
Those builders of tankers.
No Donner, no Cupid,
No Prancer, no Vixen.
Just alt-Nazi parties,
And flashbacks to Nixon.
And V.P. Mike Pence
LGBT lives upended.
Leave no gay man behind.
(And that pun's intended.)
Trump went right to work.
He couldn't be fitter.
Phone calls with Taiwan
And sad rants on Twitter.
He filled up his team,
From the swamp he did drain.
And in pyramids now
We will store all our grain.
To the top of the roof,
To the top of the wall,
Now pay for it, Mexico
Pay for it all.
I'm scared it's too late
Though the vote he did lose it,
The Electoral college
Now gets to choose it.
On that January day,
That we surely must dread.
He'll swear to protect
Something he's never read.
And laying a finger
On the side of his nose
Or on some woman's hoo-hah
To the White House he goes.
And we'll hear him exclaim,
As he snuffs out our rights,
"It will all be so great. Believe me."
Good night.
(copyrighted by Judith C. Best )
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