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“Frankly, I think, folks, I have to agree.

If all of the girls who would cast votes for me

Are voting for her—then I think we should float

A bill for repeal—we should take back that vote!”


d trump then leaned near, and then even nearer

to examine his hair in his yuge bathroom mirror

and even while taking more dye from the shelf

he continued, as always, to talk to himself.


(A habit from boyhood—and natural for him—

He did it in school, in the john, in the gym,

For, after all, “If you need listeners,” said he,

“where will you find anyone smarter than me?”)


“But, if we begin by removing the vote

from girls, there are men who can still get my goat—

where stop then with nineteen?—it would be real swell

to x out the brown folk—get fifteen, as well.”


And just as those last words dropped out of his mouth,

A brilliant plan hit him: “We’ll take the whole south

If, considering how every black man behaves,

We drop the thirteenth—and make them all slaves!”


And so, as he brushed and he combed and he parted,

He preened at the movement his brilliance had started:

“Why didn’t I think of this first? A solution

That solves everything—junk the whole constitution


And rewrite the text, making many deletes

And then boil it down to a series of tweets

And, when it’s on-line and the whole thing is done,

Make sure that the number of voters is: one.


No more of fundraising and other such pains,

No more need for speeches or even campaigns,

Just ask that one voter who the ruler should be

(and, since I’d arrange that that voter was me,)


We’d waste not a minute on hustings or stump:

The vote would be tallied and the winner:   d trump!”

He paused for a moment. “Hmm. Hair’s looking old—

When I’m in the White House, it’ll be solid gold!”


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