Do You Believe in Magic?

Faux news and breitfart screamed all day
About a big discussion
Don junior had some time last June
In private with a russian.

They said the failing media
Was trying now to lump
This in their nothingburger
(lies for mustard) of d trump

And bots and hacks and putin
Pointing in the one direction:
that foreign interference
helped him win the last election.

But he just pushed the button,
Drank more coke, and then began
To sing this little ditty
To his counselor, Kellyanne:

“I have a secret strategy
Which helps me every day.
Whenever I need to disappear,
I hold my breath and say:

‘I’m not here,
I’m not there,
I’m not really
Anywhere.
Look around:
It’s plain to see
I’ve got
Invisibility!’

It was a long, long time ago—
Don junior held a meeting.
(I almost missed it ‘cause I was
Involved in major tweeting!)

He had some Russians there, I think,
As nice as they could be,
And they brought presents: real good dirt
On Crooked Hillary.

Now junior’s office isn’t big
Or really nice, like mine,
But there was room and all of us
Including me, made nine,

But jared thought it would be wise
If no one knew that I
Was there—he said it would be best,
But wouldn’t tell me why.

I said that putin was my friend,
But jared shook his head,
And so, instead, I held my breath
And quietly I said:

‘I’m not here,
I’m not there,
I’m not really
Anywhere.
Look around:
It’s plain to see
I’ve got
Invisibility!’

But now the lying media
Has stolen don’s e-mail,
And say that he colluded
And might even go to jail

And all because our russian friends
Were sent by my bro, Vlad,
To help us lock up Hillary—
K.A.—could that be bad?

But when my lawyers say that I
Might soon be implicated,
I laugh because I know that I
Won’t be investigated

‘Cause all I have to do I know
To keep me in the clear
Is say my magic words and so
Completely disappear!

‘I’m not here,
I’m not there,
I’m not really
Anywhere.
Look around:
It’s clear to see
I’ve got
Invisibility.’ “

Trans-parent-cy

“So, junior d,” asked the Intel committee,
“If you lied to us now, it would be such a pity
To ruin your family’s good name for veracity—
So who all was there, please, in any capacity?”

“Well,” junior said, “I and kushie and paul
And, some Russian or other—but, really, that’s all.”
“No one else?” asked a senator, “just four of you?”
“Hmm. Let me think. No—that isn’t quite true.”

He glanced at his fingers. “Five, I think—and no more.”
“But a moment ago, you said there were four.”
“Four or five—what’s the diff? I’m not out to deceive—
And besides, kushie got up and started to leave,

Which left five.” “Five were left? But that means there were six.”
Junior d looked quite puzzled. “Is my mind playing tricks?
I was there, as was kushie, and paul for discussions
With three, maybe four, of those visiting Russians,

But paul used his i-phone, then he doesn’t count,
So eight, maybe nine, is the total amount.”
“So how many Russians were there all in all?”
“I’m not good with math—so you’ll have to ask paul,

But later he said—he’s a bit of a grouch–
That the ten of them crowded him right off the couch.”
“So far,” said a senator, “that makes thirteen.”
“Yeah. And paul said he felt like a goddamned sardine,

But there was still room for that crew from RT
And from Sputnik as well—so that makes twenty-three.”
“Twenty-three?” asked a senator. “Or perhaps twenty-eight—
I told you my math skills weren’t really so great.

It’s a small office, too—but it still fit them all
So nobody had to wait out in the hall
And we had enough chairs, so not one had to stand
And still there was room for that whole marching band.”

“Is that finally all? Are you sure of the count?”
“Yes, I think eighty-six is the total amount.”
“Eighty-six and that’s it? You’re totally sure?”
“Yes—no—wait—there was one more guy—that makes ninety-four.

He slipped in real quiet and stood by the door.
He nodded, because I had seen him before.
I don’t really know him—but I know he knows dad
And I think—I’m not sure—but I think his name’s vlad.”

Russian Hospitality

“Sergey, sergey—I’m so glad you’re back!”

Said vlad to a sweat-dripping sergey kislyak.

 

“Thanks, Mr. President, nice to be here.”

“You must be thirsty—so how ‘bout a beer?”

 

“No, thanks, Mr. President. Nothing for me!”

“Wouldn’t you have at least one glass of tea?”

 

“Thanks, Mr. President. Right now I’m fine.”

“Now, Sergey, I know you’ve a taste for good wine—

 

Just look at that vintage—just smell that bouquet!”

“No, thanks, Mr. President. Nothing today.”

 

“Ah—but how ‘bout some mors—our traditional drink?

“It’s tempting, but nothing for me, now, I think.”

 

“Only loads of fresh berries and honey and ice—

Say yes now, sergey—but I won’t ask you twice!”

 

“I’d like to say yes—“ “Good! I knew you would try it!”

“But have to say no on account of my diet!”

 

“Now, this isn’t healthy,” said vlad in frustration.

“July and it’s hot—you will need rehydration!”

 

“My doctor says sweating is good for my pores—

Although I admit that a glass of chilled mors—“

 

“Is right for such weather! So delightfully chill!”

“Oh dear! I’m so clumsy! Just look at that spill!”

 

“Some ice water, then? I’ve a full pitcher here!

Just see that thick frosting—it’s better than beer!”

 

“But I’m good for right now,” said the dripping kislyak.

“Maybe after you say why you wanted me back?”

 

“At least have a Coke—if you won’t try a beer—

It’s donny boy’s drink—he can make it appear

 

From a spot on his desk where there sits a red button

But I bet he drinks twelve a day, being a glutton!

 

And speaking of trump—he’s a problem, I think?

Let’s speak of him more after downing one drink—

 

Only one—but it’s vodka—let’s toast to the wealth

And Rodina’s power—“ “Sir, it’s bad for my health!”

 

“Well, maybe it’s bad, but I’ll tell you what’s worse—

It’s not taking a hint!” and vlad pulled, with a curse,

 

A pistol from under his desk and one shot

Rang out and sergey tumbled dead on the spot.

 

The shot brought an aide—“Sir?” “It’s sergey kislyak.

Just look at that sweat—I would say heart attack!”

Least Said…

“To be or not to be—sounds pretty good?”

“I’ve heard it before.” “There’s just no way you could,”

Said trump to his mirror, “not heard it or read it,

‘cause, mirror, I’m really the first one to have said it.

I make these things up—I’m as smart as a whip—

And how about this one: Don’t give up the ship!

Or Remember the Alamo? That one was mine,

Or Four Score and Seven—tho’ Abe stole that line!

There’s Boys Will Be Boys and Best Friends Forever,

Then something is better than something than never—

I make up so many—like May and December

Or An Idle Brain—something—it’s hard to remember

But if you think they’re good—well, mirror, just wait—

I’m making one now and it’s going to be great,

It’s as good as that chicken one—that was mine, too:

Oh–Do Unto Others ‘Cause They’ll Do Unto You!

Don’t you think that’s swell, major, major, and super?”

But all that the Mirror, like Anderson Cooper,

Could do was resort to a rolling of eyes

While trump went on, “Healthy and Wealthy and Wise!

A yuge one and one of my number one hits

And they put it right up with that If the Shoe Fits—

Mine too, but what puts even that in the shade

Is, Life is All Lemons, So Let’s Drink Lemonade,

Or something like that—but it’s good, you can bet—

And then there’s that one that you’ll never forget

And if those ones all fly, well, then this baby soars!

I said, It Never Rains, But Somewhere It Pours!”

The proverbs kept flying. The Mirror went dim

As it tried to come up with a way to stop him

And finally, desperate, he gave out a cry:

“If You Ask Me No Question, I’ll Tell You No Lie!”

“Did I say that?” trump asked. “I don’t think I would.”

“You didn’t,” said Mirror, “But we all think you should!”

O Tempora (Nova) (for p.r.)

As Robin once said to Alan-a-Dale

In the middle of making a song:

“Perhaps our approach to this whole hero thing

Is quite fundamentally wrong.

 

I mean, let’s think hard who’s got power or not

In England—tho’, yes, it’s a bitch—

Not lepers and peasants and freeholders, but

That 1% who form the rich.

 

Who owns all the castles which stand on the hills

And give the whole place that bleak look?

Who’s skimming the taxes they pay to the state

While cooking the whole Domesday Book?

 

When Richard the Lion went on his Med cruise,

What profit could our peasants hope

Would come back to them and not to the king

And his barons and maybe the Pope?

 

And then there’s John-Boy, who gets to play king,

Although it’s quite clear he’s unwrapped,

While big-bro spends time in the Austrian court

And protests that he’s really kidnapped—

 

Another excuse—as if there’s a need!

For milking the serfs of each groat,

And angel, and crown, and thripenny bit—

To pay off King Dick’s ransom note!”

 

“Now, Robin, that’s no way to talk,” said Friar Tuck.

“Your thinking has got a queer bent!”

“Now don’t get me started on tithing,” said Rob.

The church, too, is pure 1%.

 

Cathedrals aren’t built out of cardboard and air—

‘It’s something the poor understand’

You say, but, while they starve to pay for the thing

You live off the fat of the land.

 

So, consider, Little John, our Sherwoodian life—

Well, yes, you could say we are free—

We don’t pay the taxes, or slave in the fields,

But, remember, we live in a tree!

 

We’re un-unionized, we have no health care,

No visible savings to mention

And when one’s too old to poach the King’s deer,

Will any retire on a pension?”

 

“That’s true, Rob, that’s true,” said his friend, Little John,

Though we may be as merry as May

And drink all that nut brown ale Alan sings of,

Which one has a 401K?”

 

“You see what I mean? We’ve been totally wrong—

We’ve gotten it backwards, I’m sure!

From now on, we’re joining that fat 1%

By doing like them: rob the poor!

 

So, Alan, retuning your harp, be prepared

To make a new song in a blink,

A ballad—‘How We Changed to Move with the Times

And so became ‘Robbing Hood, Inc.’!”

As Houses

D trump stared at the ceiling

And then he tapped the wall.

He peeked behind the pictures

And glanced into the hall.

 

Then reaching in a desk drawer,

Thinking, “Crazy? like a fox!”

He pulled out blunt-tipped scissors and

a big Alcoa box

 

and set to work, with shiny sheets

to overlap each joint

until the thing was smooth and round

and rose into a point.

 

“Take that, Obama! Oh so smart—

Spy on yourself instead!”

He muttered as he placed the thing

Upon his ill-dyed head.

 

“It’s microwaves, says Kellyanne,

Or maybe my tv.

There’s cameras in it, that I know,

And cell phones? Possibly.

 

The CIA, those Nazi guys—

And after that ovation!

It’s just as well I weekend in

A very safe location

 

Where I can golf and golf and golf

And think I’ll never stop

And crowds of foreign leaders can

Enjoy a photo op

 

While in the background there’s my team,

Hand-picked for their distinction,

Discussing North Korea’s plans

For nuclear extinction.

 

It’s all so safe, I tell you, folks—

And calm as it appears,

But I’m demanding Congress will

Begin a probe of Sears!”

No Kidding!

“Now, honestly, I was joking—

I make a lot of jokes—

But it is clear when I am not.

Come on, believe me, folks!

 

I’m serious on health care,

On taxes—you can tell—

I’m serious, too, on NATO,

And divestiture, as well.

 

I’m sober on the EPA,

And trimming all the fat

From foreign aid and furthermore

I’m deadly serious that

 

The media lies—misrepresents

My thoughts on each position

And so I’m serious saying they’re

The political opposition.

 

I’m serious, too, when I have said

That millions filled the Mall

And also when I say that Mexico

Will fund the wall.

 

The popular vote I lost—and this

Is one of Hillary’s gloats–

I’m serious was due to those

5 mil illegal votes.

 

And as for Vlad, I’m serious, too—

I never met the man

And I am sure that every rape’s

Due to a Mexican.

 

But when I’m being funny, you

Can always tell—it’s true!

I only use my right hand to send

Those tweets to you

 

Who put me in the White House,

Despite my many gaffs,

And when I said my phone was tapped,

I said it just for laughs.