D trump stood on the platform,
Dressed only in his shorts.
“That D.O.D. is just a bunch
Of cheapskate spoilsports!
My party’s ruined if there’s only
One small motorcade.
As Vlad has said, it’s nothing much
Without a big parade.
Imagine this: I’m standing there
In furry hat and boots
And up come fifty generals
Who give me smart salutes.
And then come fifty admirals
While sailors fire a gun
From each of fifty battleships
Moored right off Washington.
And then come guys in fuzzy hats
Who march in endless files
Whose route begins in Baltimore
And stretches fifty miles
While right behind them roll along
The vehicles in ranks—
The Humvees and the APCs and
Endless lines of tanks
While overhead the bombers roar
And jets dart here and there
While fifty marching bands in red
Make music fill the air
And then I climb aboard a jeep—
No—Vlad said I’d look stauncher
Like him, if fact, if I drove by
On my own missile launcher
And then a submarine—no, two!—
Would surface in the street
And then the nukes—and then the nukes—
Not one or two, but all the fleet!
But then his voice grew louder yet
And soon was almost screaming
When suddenly he felt a slap
And Melania said, “You’re dreaming!”