A bunch of bad hombres woke from their siesta.
Their leader, Nieto, said, “It’s no fiesta
To hear senor El Trumpo, who thinks he’s all balls,
Talk, when he can focus, on payments and walls.
It’s true we’re all rapists with drug-produced pesos,
But listen, muchachos! It’s only Jeff Bezos
Who has the dinero to build such a thing
And even he’d have to cash in all his bling
And auction the lot of his las Amazones
(and throw in, we’d guess, his best Sunday cojones).
That being the case, suppose we say ‘Si’
Senor Trump you are right, so of course we agree
To this wall and will pledge now to say that we’ll fund it,
Confounding the wisdom of each US pundit.’”
The hombres leaped up, each one crying, “Traitor!”
But Pena-Nieto said, “You’ll find that, later,
What I am proposing is not what you think—
So, listen, compadres,” and he gave them a wink.
“We say we will pay—then, without us obstructing,
They bring in the dozers and set to constructing
And then year by year as they find they require
More concrete and steel, then the bill will climb higher
Until it is through and they say they can’t borrow
A cent and we say, ‘We will pay you tomorrow.’
And everyone here knows—but they don’t, however—
That manana is something we folk use for ‘never’.”
“You mean?” asked the hombres, “I do, indeed, yes.
And they are so dumb that they never will guess
That, like Trump, when he builds, they will find that we’ve riffed them,
And then—pay-back time—they will see that we’ve stiffed them!”