Snug in his nest in Mar-a-Lago he wonders
how to invest the additional plunders
he’s gained in his years of selling his favor.
He ponders his ice cream and wonders what flavor
they delivered today with his fries and Big Mac.
He gives it a lick and then gives a loud quack.
He’s big duck in this puddle, so does not know why
past cronies of his keep passing him by
avoiding eye contact. Do they not recall
how he was the single best POTUS of all?
Where are all of his partners in crime and dissent?
Can anyone tell him where they all went?
Where’s Ivanka? Where’s Jared? On to their next steal?
Don’t they know he invented the art of the deal?
Once they jumped to his dictates as head of state.
Did other past presidents share the same fate?
Did Jefferson suffer a similar plight?
Did Washington sit alone every night
while Martha took off with her nightclubbing friends?
Did other great men meet with similar ends?
His last month in office he took a great scalding.
He’s lonely, obese and orange and balding.
He’s plummeted earthwards from such a great height
that all of his minions should share in his plight,
yet they’ve all gone on to lives of their own,
leaving him here to pine on his throne.
But what is the reason for his blatant smirking?
Can it possibly be that without even working
he’ll draw a huge pension for the rest of his life,
plus a travel allowance for him and his wife?