“Short back and sides—I like short hair,”
Said Putin in the barber chair.
“You’ve got it,” as he moved the clipper
Replied the barber, “So, Our Skipper,
Why the big grin? Further pain
Inflicted on the east Ukraine?
Have you got some distant hope we’ll
Soon take over Constantinople?”
“Now don’t you tell the Patriarch—
I like to keep him in the dark
That I am not a big believer,
But I’ve just been the main receiver
Of something he might think a blessing.
You know we spent the autumn messing
With Clinton and the DNC?”
“What happened?” “Their democracy
Collapsed—and so that weird-haired lump
Of ego won and soon d trump
Who foolishly admires me
Will occupy the presidency.”
“No! Are you kidding? No more sense
Than let him win? I knew they’re dense,
But that? Here, with that silly frown,
The bulgy tum, he’d make a clown
In Moscow Circus, or tv—“
“And there, Ivan, the mystery—
How could those Yankees rule the earth
And yet believe that what trump’s worth
Is in his pocket—or his tweets?
I must admit the thought defeats,
But I am grateful, none the less,
And almost think that God might bless
Us when he gave us that buffoon
Who soon will dance to Moscow’s tune—
A man who seems, at most, to be
No more than greed and vanity
Combined in one large swaggering chump.
So thank you, God, for Donald Trump!
Did I say that? I deny it!”
“No fear, Skipper! Pussy Riot
Taught us all we need to know
About the fate of Putin foe.
But you can be an awful tease!
All done. That’s 1400, please?”
“It’s clear to me—and coming clearer,”
Said Putin looking in the mirror,
“The West is weaker than we thought
When they’re so easy to be bought
And also easy to be hacked.”
“What’s next?” “Rebuild the Warsaw Pact,
Prop up Assad, dump Merkel, then,
To ruin France, support Le Pen,
And utilize a cash barrage
To help our buddy, Neil Farage.”
“And then?” “I think we’ll rearrange
All Europe. Thanks. And keep the change.”