POTUS Dumbass: August 14, 2017
When your preface is pathetic
— a weak-minded swath of chest-puffery
meant to force caring people to their knees
(where your self-obsessed heart
pictures us in your every obscene dream) —
the impotent opening clarifies the watered down words
you were forced to utter next.
We saw your meaning bigly lit
by the intended nastiness of your light.
The audience you cater to, revels
in the reticence you don’t hide.
They understand your code as I do. They hear:
“I was forced to say a bit more than I said before,
to placate the inconvenient folk
we haven’t yet tamed to our will, to pretend
I don’t crave your acceptance more than anyone else’s
except dear, dear Putin’s. Please, please, please
notice I didn’t call you Terrorists.
No one can make me tell the truth about anything,
not even about you.”
Your ineptitude is so obviously evil this time.
It backs your ass into a corner that traps you
in full view of the voters who distrusted competence
more than the depths you had already proved
you would sink to to emulate the dictators you revere.
More of those who willingly tipped the scales
toward ugliness, may witness you wallowing in it now
as the benefit of the doubt they’ve been hiding behind
is already evaporating in the glimpse of Armageddon
you threw in their faces last week.
Flickering remnants of misplaced hope
are in the acrid air around us all, harder
for fence-sitters to miss — harder
for them to ignore without announcing the side
they pretended they hadn’t chosen.
It must be frustrating to be you,
clueless as a box of rocks,
and wanting so much to be king.