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