August 4, 2016

O Donald! My Donald!


O Donald! My Donald! the nomination’s won;
Now you’ve insulted all of us, and it’s no longer fun;
Those tiny hands, that face spray-tanned, the world in mortal terror,
At the potential consequence of electoral error:
But O brain! brain! brain!
O the fact that we can think!
It isn’t hard to see the truth—
I sure could use a drink!


O Donald! My Donald! please listen to the Khans;
Take heed—you haven’t sacrificed—just sowed your gold bonbons;
Those ankle spurs sound really rough—meanwhile, concrete a-flowing,
Your towers rose, casinos glowed, with bankruptcies ongoing;
Here Donald! dear duce!
You shoulda stuck with steaks;
A meat salesman need never sweat
False statements that he makes.


But Donald does not answer, he’s got babies to fight;
Still, like a spoiled taco bowl, he keeps me up all night;
He wants to round up Muslim folks, to see what’s going on;
But it’s quite clear, even from here—I think the word is “con”?
So read, O eyes, and think, O brains!
For we’ll get just one chance
To kick old Donald to the curb,
And then join hands and dance.


(The author wishes to apologize for the preceding in its entirety.)



Ian Dreiblatt is the director of digital media at Melville House.