Working Hard in New Jersey

At four thirty-two, trump stood up from his chair
In Bedminster, waving his hands in the air.
“I’m busy!” he said to himself, “I’m so busy!
If anyone else, he would soon be so dizzy
He’d look like steve bannon with even less sleep.”
He walked to the window to take a quick peep
And frowned. “Looks like golf is out—what’ll I do?
Perhaps have a meeting? Make a phone call or two?
There’s that Mexican guy who says he’ll fund the wall
And Boy Scouts who say I’m best speaker of all
And there’s China—they’re desperate to hear what I think
About trade, North Korea—I need something to drink.”
He picked up the phone, “Hello?” Somebody spoke.
“So, send up some ice and a fresh Diet Coke.”
He glanced at his Rollex. “It’s four thirty-three—
No one gets as much done in a minute as me!
If mitch worked like I do, it’s perfectly plain,
ACA would be dead as the Clinton campaign!”
But the tv was talking. He looked at the screen
And his orange complexion began to turn green.
“Fake news! Failing Times!” Dropping into his seat,
With thumbs flailing wildly, he tapped out a tweet
And right at the end, as the byte count diminished,
He typed in four dots, showing he wasn’t finished
Then pounded away, “Mueller! Sessions! Witch hunt!”
Then “Hillary! MAGA!” Hitting “Send” with a grunt,
He sat back, exhausted. “It’s a wrap!” said d trump.
“I get so much more done when I’m out of that dump!”

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