Smiles
A Villanelle with imagery
It must be nice, it must be quaint
To watch your puppet dance
As he tries to divide and conquer on your behalf, you’re his patron saint
He aspires to be like you, throwing us off with gestures that are feint
Not wanting to displease you, because of what you can finance
It must be nice, it must be quaint
“Глупый дурак, слушай меня.” — “Stupid fool, listen to me” is your complaint
Watching Trump’s baby blues go into a religious trance
As he tries to divide and conquer on your behalf, you’re his patron saint
Conniving and deceiving, your smiles are your war paint
Your motivation reveals a patterned advance
It must be nice, it must be quaint
Handing him a ball, handing him the “world”, a symbol to acquaint
Every detail choreographed, it’s never by happenstance
As he tries to divide and conquer on your behalf, you’re his patron saint
Trump said you “smiled,” oh that Russian hoax, as your laughing became restraint
Individual 1 can now astral project himself whilst on the phone, catching your glance
It must be nice, it must be quaint
As he tries to divide and conquer on your behalf, you’re his patron saint