• christine

Trump

This is how I see Trump

His hair was a lobster pot of his ambitions

false, as his plastic talents

which shook the world

his self-interest dangerous.

His morals frayed lace.

His bluster a whirl wind of lies.

His soul a Dorian Grey picture.

His swagger built from the pain of others,

women a footstool for his smirk,

his body a repulsive slug,

oozing and grasping.

Sympathy like a Rottweiler on heat,

Empathy smaller than a gnat

known only for its bite and itch.

Trump a blimp swayed only

by the winds of self-promotion and advantage.

A presidency built on false news

in a white house of Post Truth-ism

a corruption at the heart of government.

A proud boy indeed!