Today, America extends a query
To test the ever-popular theory
And forever end the debate
About whether love is stronger than hate.
We’re given two men with no virtues to note
And told it’s important to go out and vote.
One choice is to vote that you love Barron’s dad,
Or else just to vote that you think “Orange Man Bad.”
As for the white guy who’ll earn half the votes
Who creeps people out and has quotable quotes…
One guy will win, half the nation will cry,
And celebrities still won’t move to Canada… sigh.
Whenever death may lurk nearby
And threaten you with pain
Know that if the threat is true
You’ll never watch a debate again…
My squad was pinned down
By ten-thousand Iraqis.
We stood not a chance
Against all Allah’s lackeys.
Somehow we survived
And came home from the war,
I with one right leg less
And one purple heart more.
When the big day arrived
To get my medal from Trump
The pres stuck it on,
Said “congrats on the stump!”
Now I live a life
Where I needn’t pack heat,
Where I save cash on tickets
When I buy half a seat.
People notice my injury
Although I don’t tout it.
I keep on with my life
And there’s no butts about it!
In a few years I’ll die
And they’ll speak at my wake.
“He was not and had not
“An asshole,” they’ll spake.
And then I’ll be in heaven
Or maybe in Hell.
Either way, no VA
So I think I’ll be well.
Tomorrow is the fateful day
Where 45% of America shouts “hooray”
And the major event will be watching those
Who will not be watching the new Pres’s prose.
Tomorrow the meme will in the white house sit
And whether you smile or snarl or spit
You have to admit (or at least you should)
Until 2020 Twitter’s gonna be good.
The road is cold and lonely,
The street is chill and bare,
And the temperature is cold
On the abandoned thoroughfare.
The avenue’s deserted
And the frost clings to my hair
As I concisely summarize
That ice is all that’s present there.
The lane’s devoid of people
And our breath hangs in the air.
The thermometer’s relative lowness
Means to be outside few apparently dare.
The cul-de-sac is frigid
And devoid of folk, I swear.
It’s frosted and filled with people
In such quantity as those whom about this poem still do care.
Trying to fix politics
By working from within
Is like using a trowel
To fill the Grand Canyon in.
Alas, fixing politics
By showing up to vote
Is like taking that same trowel
To South Dakota via boat.