A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
Trumpty Dumpty sat on his wall.
Trumpty Dumpty had a great fall.
He climbed up his wall and fell down again
And again, and again, and again, and again.
Wee Donald Trumpkin runs through the town,
Peeing on the hookers in his nightgown,
Peering through the windows, crying through the locks,
“Are the johns all in their beds and turning on their cocks?”
I had a little nut tree —
Nothing would it bear
But a Donald Trumpkin
And some pubic hair.
The President of Russia
Hacked Hillary and me,
And all for the sake
Of my little nut tree.
Bumpity, bumpity, bump,
My name is Twittery Trump,
I eat out of pans and old tin cans
Because my mind is a dump, a dump,
Because my mind is a dump.
Bah! Bah! Donald,
Have you any hair?
“Yes sir, yes sir —
You had best beware,
For I have no master:
I will maul any dame,
Because the mighty lion
Has an orange mane.”
An owl flew onto Donald’s hair.
It bent and pecked his pate’s scalp bare
So it would have space for a turd —
I wish I were that wise old bird.
Donald had a little ram,
It’s fleece was black as ink,
And everywhere that Donald went
The ram was sure to slink.
It followed him to work one day
And caught Monica’s scent.
From that point on that is the room
Where all their time was spent
Copyright 2017 Lewis Turco