By Catherine Harnett
20 January 2017
You will make America Great Again!
The poet of tweets, master hash-tagger.
The giver of speeches, the riler-upper of crowds
The hider of taxes, the slapper of tariffs,
the grabber of pussies; the keeper of
Tic-Tacs, just in case.
The original birther, mocker of soldiers
captured in war, Miss Universe Ogler,
survivor of scorn from people of color,
the left, the disabled, children who dream,
Meryl Streep with her waning career.
The wearer of caps, thrice sayer of vows,
avoider of briefings, the water-board’s friend,
the stop-and-frisker, poo-poo-er of hacking,
climate denier, the boss-man of generals
embellished with stars.
The eminent domainer, the mangler of Scripture,
the user of loopholes, witness to Muslims dancing
on roofs, builder of walls, appointer of Judges,
the Vetter-in-Chief, the teller-like-it-is-er,
the shaker-upper, the Merry Christmaser.
The admirer of strongmen: Dear Leader with
his fat finger poised, the Premier commanding
tanks in the square, Saddam who kept terrorists
in check. Vlad playing ‘Who Wants to Be a Wiki-Leaker?’
with a flock of geeks.
The teller of truths: women lack stamina, bleed
everywhere, are loud-mouthed fat pigs with ugly
mugs. Mexicans rape, the lame are fair game,
Jews count dough, Latin men sweat, blacks
threaten their mothers with hammers and knives.
You showed us the way to the Golden Brick road,
You led us to wealth-building schools, sold us
The Art of the Deal, made us sell steaks and ties,
taught us to divert proceeds from charity balls,
tell children and veterans the check’s in the mail.
Mr. President, we look to you!
Repeal our health plans, let Arctic ice dwindle,
Protect embryos-to-be, reduce regs and pay,
Sever ties with allies who helped us fight wars.
Undo the Kenyan Muslim’s laws.
We can be anything in the New Great America
the builder of bridges and roads,
the broker who closes shady deals,
the CEO with baby-soft hands in the till,
the oilman richer than Ewings and Kochs,
the dude who escapes the warzone, his home.
We are giddy, atwitter, as you settle in.
Two daughters, three sons, your-son-in-law,
too, your gorgeous Slovenian wife plan to visit
the dumpy House a time or two. No staircase
of gold, no trillion-dollar views, grey concrete
bunkers,; plus it smells like that little old lady’s
house the bulldozers razed.
Obama, Bush, Presidents before them, leave
office with greyed hair, their youthful campaign
faces etched with age. It’s stress that gets to them;
not you, with the colors in your repertoire, orange,
blond, lime green. Not a grey hair among them!
You are so manly, rugged, virile, always well-tressed.
Godspeed, Mr. President. Make America Great Again!
