Trump is a fart, by sphincter-bugle blown,
to claim the world from his own trumped-up throne,
that all should reek, as does his own bog-roll -
though assholes all, it's true, are just as foul.
Fake businessman, beloved of bankruptcy;
fake president, for all the world to see.
As smart as late-night drunk who slurs his words
with mind that strains for thoughts as bowels do turds.
A laughing-stock, some dark clown Shakespeare wrote:
ignorance mocking from a childish throat.
Thinks Constitution is for hit-points up;
rolls over for the money, Putin's pup.
Tweets like a double bogie, foot in mouth;
knows not Swede from turnip, North from South.
Like a Wally pledged to build a wall
from junked economy where engines stall.
To make America a dirtier land
with open-cast and frack and tarry sand;
to make a Mordor where the thorn will rule
and Science is thrown out of Nazi school.
Some say he is the Anti-Christ - great beast
to bring us all the Last Trump at the least.
To think a feeble, sneering, spoilt boy
is capable of making such annoy...
And what does this say of America -
your roots and guts and wishing on a star?
The USA - a tin-pot-Dickhead's state,
its third-world problems to accelerate?
YOU ARE READING
Potatoes
PoetryHot, Sweet, Saucy, Spicy - always filling/fattening. Donder - vb. To blunder about aimlessly, not knowing what the feck one is at.
