He swallowed an Ambien capsule,
And gazed at the Washington skies.
He pouted, characteristically,
And narrowed his gimlet eyes,
For the Resolute Desk had been cleared now,
Melania’s photo, and all;
And “The Bronco Buster” by Remington
Left a reproachful gap on the wall.
“I got to remember my Cestrol.
Kayleigh, just see it’s in hand —
How could they have been so nasty?
Help me to understand.
“And you’ve brought me the latest Fake News:
All Harris bullshit and stuff…
Know what? They betrayed the people,
And they’ll pay for it soon enough.
“There’s my best set of clubs in the West Wing —
My Titleists are back in Trump Tower,
With the balls sent by Vladimir Pooting,
During my first month in power…”
“More Ambien — where is my water?
Can’t you ring for the goddam staff!”
(His continuing zest for denial
Caused Kayleigh to stifle a laugh.)
A thump, and a murmur of voices —
”Can they do this to me? This is weird…”
As the door of the Office swung open
And TWO MILITARY POLICEMEN appeared:
“Mr. Trump, we are here to escort you
From the Office denied you by Law:
We must ask you to leave with us quietly,
By the Jackson Place janitor’s door.”
He rose, and he put down the Fake News.
He staggered — and, terrible-eyed,
He brushed past a bust of Lincoln,
And was helped to a limo outside.