Trump This

No fairy tale

that you can tell

will help you now

to end this well.

You’re fat, you’re old,

your wits grown foolish,

your claims are false,

your tweets just mulish.

Sad dolly wife

in your golden tower,

wax daughter beside you,

wielding power,

you’re circled by

those lesser sons

and served, for now,

by others’ spawn.

Listen for the crowd’s roar—

not so loud anymore?

The big white house

won’t let you sleep,

enemies abroad—

you’re in their keep.

You prowl the rooms

of history,

hoping for what?

No mystery.

The life you’ve led

has brought you here.

Only one way out,

and it’s getting near.

—Sef, 1/29/17 [Wishful.]

Sefpoems