“What’s the matter, boss?” asked Putin’s barber.
“You’re looking way down in the dumps!
Are you losing your grip on Crimea?
Or maybe it’s too many trumps?”
“It’s trump, all right,” said V.V. Putin,
“and I’ll tell you just was ist so los—
The FBI has too much data
And they’re getting a little too close!”
“You mean they might know about—that thing?”
“They could—and that other thing, too.
And if they knew that, I don’t know what,
Short of telling the truth, I could do!”
“You are in a bind!” said the barber.
“And it’s something you just can’t let pass.
Let’s see: how about a distraction?
Have you got any spare sarin gas?”
“We might have some down in my basement—
Behind the old hot water tank.
I seem to recall that we dropped some
On the Mujaheddeen for a prank.
The look on their faces was priceless
As over their eyes came a glaze
And they gasped and they wheezed and they crumpled—
I think I was laughing for days!
But wait—I see now where you’re going—
We drop a bomb—they flip their lids
And this can provide a distraction—“
“And more, if you drop it on kids.”
“So wait, “ said V V, “have I got this?
We just drop some gas in a clump
And folks fix their eyes on some village– ”
“And completely forget—“ “donald trump.”
“And then he pretends to abuse you
And calls you an unpleasant name—“
“And everyone thinks that he hates me—“
“And not that you’re playing a game.”
“That’s brilliant!” said Putin, “Just genius!
Pure genius, indeed, through and through.
I gave our last medal to Rexie,
Or, believe me, I’d pin it on you!”
“Well, boss, I’m just glad that I’m able
To lift you right out of the blues.
But aren’t you still here for a haircut?”
“No thanks—must tell donny the news!
But remember to keep all this secret
Or, otherwise, I’ll have you shot.”
“What?” “That’s just a joke,” he said, leaving,
“Or,” under his breath, “maybe not.”