In the midst of troubled slumbers,
D trump woke. “It’s not the numbers!”
And leaping up, he ran to share
His deep thoughts with his friend, his hair.
“What is ever coming clearer,”
He said, frowning at his mirror,
“is the media’s distorting
Everything with their reporting.”
“What?” the mirror, dazed and groggy,
Asked. “I fear I’m somewhat foggy
At this hour—what’s the trouble?
Have you turned the world to rubble?
Helped Obamacare survive?
Is Osama still alive?
If it’s not, please—beauty rest’s
On my agenda—all the best!”
Mirror—let me put this to you.
If the facts you really knew, you’d
Say with me—there’s no denying
That the media are lying
And they’ve lowered the amount
Far below the proper count,
Being, just like always, niggard
With the truth. Here’s how I figured
with this picture on my phone
showing you I’m not alone
Thinking that I’m underrated
And the number is misstated.”
He flipped it open, “See, look there.”
Mirror gave a bleary stare.
“First off, if you’re counting all
Those who stand there on the mall,
For each one take one more on
For the one who’s in the john.
Add those up, the numbers double
And at once you see the trouble.
“Oh,” said Mirror, half awake.
“Not done yet—there’s coffee break—
Lots have dodged out for their joe
And bring some back for folks they know—
Each carry-tray can hold four cups
And you see that quickly ups
The number—double once and more—
Add to each another four.”
“Coffee,” Mirror said, “need some.”
“Not yet,” trump said. “Just see how dumb
The media is. If you can freeze
This picture. There. Those aren’t real trees.
My experts—each from MIT
Say it’s plain as it can be—
That that’s an optical illusion
Which certainly can cause confusion—
They’re clumps of people, in each clump
Are six more each, or I’m not trump.”
“And toast,” the Mirror said. “There’s more—
The lying media dropped my score
By leaving out those big white spaces.
That’s people looking up—white faces
And maybe here and there some hoods
And so you see the bill of goods
Those cheats from CNN will sell—
So it’s no wonder that I yell!”
“If that’s all,” Mirror said, “But wait!
A couch sits three—if skinny, eight—
So Nielsen got it wrong—add five
To what they counted—that would jive
With what our boy Sean Spicer said
And so, by my clear count, instead
Of 30 million plus the mall,
The total, if we tote them all,
Was something near to seven billion,
Give or take a missing million—
With such a count, who needs exact?
K.A. calls that ‘alternative fact’!”
The Mirror gave a final yawn.
“I’m sure you’re right there, President Don.
I know the US understands
It’s safe now in your outsized hands,
And lying media should keep
Their mouths shut and let others sleep.”
“Okay. That’s good.” He dowsed his phone
And climbed back into bed alone
To face the ceiling and take stock
Of what was one gigantic flock
And start again his count towards zillion—
“Let’s see—that makes eleven billion…”
And then doubt spread across his face.
“But what about those who watched from space?”