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What sort of swamp monster have we now,
That clumpfs his mud across our golden prairie,
Down our Constitution, over our Independence?
What is this, trailing a weird white herd of mewling schlumpfs,
A sniggling Soviet bro, a scrum of simpering Senators,
Trying to ride his tail, trying to ride each other.

Babbling, frantic, under a haystack of hair, he tweets
He is our beast; we chose him, and all his wives.
He comes dumpfing burdens from his high tower:
His back taxes, his bankrupt buildings,
His unpaid laborers, his crashed casinos.
His wives must be watched, his towers surrounded.

Ahead of him is an oath of allegiance,
His Army, his Navy, his Air Force, his nuclear trigger.
He deserves this all and more, just ask him:
Access to international banks, privileged deals;
Then our Social Security, our health care,
Later our clean water, national parks.

Harrumphing at the press of questions, instead
He dumpfs his waste, 140 characters at a time.
He declines our old fashioned notions:
Free media; the rule of law; one person, one vote.
The country hunkers down in the frozen January,
Watches his toadies shoving Muslims off buses,
Screaming “Build the Wall,” loading their guns.

Judith Offer has had two daughters, five books of poetry and dozens of plays. (Eighteen of the latter, including six musicals, have been produced.) She has read her poetry at scores of poetry venues and has been included in the Library of Congress series and on “All Things Considered” on NPR. Her most recent book of poetry, “Double Crossing”, features poems about Oakland, California.

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