Alternative Numbers

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?”


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