It’s Springtime for Donald
How sad
Truly
sad
Your life must be
To play the villain
The monster on
Reality TV
While children are being
Born, and the elderly are dying and
Another mother can’t afford the rent
And a family who
Just lost their home
But what do you care?
As all the flowers bloom
And all the billionaires fly off
To Mar-A Lago to worship
Your sorry Russian bought fat
Lap dog
Ass
Playing golf
On the American dollar
As the people you just fired
Stand in the unemployment lines
With no future
As you stare at the camera
Like a psychopath
With a disturbed smile
Happy & content
As a pigeon who
Just shit on a
Brand new car
Because it’s Springtime
For Donald
As all the flowers die
As all your believers wretch
Realizing that you are
Far less than a real human being
Or even a leper messiah
Because it’s Springtime for Donald
As the warm April wind
Smells like putrid dogshit
Wherever
You suddenly
Appear
R.M. Engelhardt is a poet, writer & author whose work over the last 30 years has been published in a wide number of journals and zines. He currently lives & writes in Upstate NY and is the Editor of the Small Indie Poetry Press Dead Man’s Press Ink as well as the creator of the group “Poets Against The Extinction Of America”. His new book is ” The Bones Of Our Existence, A Journal 2046″
