run down the colors II

Two years, James Mattis managed to persist
explaining to an audience of one:
diplomacy's ill-served by hissy-fits;
what's wrought in wrath is rarely rightly done.
He'd known how badly Powell's name got used
by Cheney and that Cabinet of tools.
And swore he'd be the only one to choose
when it was time to quit this ship of fools.
A lonely voice for clear Intelligence,
the last adult to hold Trump's gilded leash.
Not even Conway clings to faith in Pence
should Congress find the gumption to impeach.
MadDog has pulled the ripcord, bid farewell.
Last rearguard's down! Our highway's clear--to Hell.

useless

Melania explains, as best she can
how "little shrubbery makes house look big"
but grooming just confirms, she's got no man
her Trumpty-Dumpty's quite the porkless pig.
The insecurities that plagued his youth
a hundred analysts can't lay to rest.
His compensations shield him from the truth
within his world, whatever's his, is "best!"
Finasteride impedes his bald-spot's spread
but saps libido from his  porcine life
it's Hannity that holds him rapt in bed;
his ego one-by-one squeezed out each wife.
No satisfaction came with this brass ring;
he'd rather golf than play at being king.

run down the colors

Two years, James Mattis managed to persist
explaining to an audience of one:
diplomacy's ill-served by hissy-fits;
what's wrought in wrath is rarely rightly done.
He knows how badly Powell's name got used
by Cheney and that Cabinet of tools.
And swore he'd be the only one to choose
when it was time to quit this ship of fools.
A lonely voice for clear Intelligence,
the last adult to hold Trump's gilded leash.
Not even Conway clings to faith in Pence
if Congress found the gumption to impeach.
MadDog has pulled the ripcord, bid farewell.
Last rearguard's down! We're in the jaws of Hell.

the spreading stain

OneIndividual is on the hook
although no papers deign to cite his name
Khuzami's citing chapter, verse, and book
and Cohen can't--alone--bear all the blame.
What Congress shirks, may find redress in court
as we learn each corrupt emolument.
The backlash to the Mueller team report
must resonate throughout our government.
'l'Etat, c'est moi!" the modern world rejects
in France, Nepal, and even in Iran.
The sword of Justice thirsts for tyrants' necks;
She's loyal to the Law, but to no man.
"No man's beyond the Law" I've heard it said,
not even presidents--until they're dead.

retro-AG

Bill Barr stood for a president unchained
to trample any statute, or a clause
Executive amok! all unconstrained
by any semblance of the Rule of Law.
No senator who toils to legislate
should so unbalance what our Founders wrought.
The tripod built to undergird our State
must fall, were any pillar bent, or bought.
But Mitch McConnell smirks his turtle smirk.
The only Checks he counts are from his boss.
He took Trump's money, now he does his work
And We the People eat it for a loss.
Jeff Sessions wasn't good, but now I fear
Bill Barr brings our republic's downfall near.

Scot-free

Self-serving pardons of conspirators
for selling missiles to our enemy
strange president, who'd served in a World War
now fought as hard for mis-placed loyalty.
By law, it's Congress gets to spend our funds.
'Though Reagan backed Somosa in this fight,
it's not OK to give deathsquads our guns;
it's not our job to stoke the global Right.
Our fulsome praise of George Bush41
implies critique of Trump, who's name's unsaid.
'Though Poppie dwarfed his cocaine-addled son,
he earns no halo just for being dead.
His cover-up of treason and high crimes
lies unexamined 'til the present times.

Autocrats united

Prince Bone-Saw's Putin's foremost fan and friend;
assassinating journalists' their lark.
Executives who serve their private ends
conspire to keep the public in the dark.
The age of Erdogan, and Trump, and Xi
is hostile to the public's need to know.
This darkest chapter of our history
evokes John Adams centuries ago.
Now, Trump's proposed a Pravda for TheStates
with editorials tuned to his eyes.
Pontificating "Trade Wars Make Us Great!"
rewriting news to promulgate his lies.
There's no way forward from our present mess
if Trump can meddle freely with our Press.

Fat-head

Cartoonists' shorthand for unbridled graft
comedians make mileage on Trump's butt
as corpulent as William Howard Taft,
what's bigly presidential is his gut.
His attributes are hidden from Trump's eyes;
without a mirror, he can't see his balls.
His sycophants just amplify the lies,
four solipsistic echo-chamber walls.
Pure myelin's supposed to insulate,
but there's no signal coming down those nerves.
Trump's never really had to cogitate;
from birth, he's had far more than he deserves.
Convinced he's a rare genius without peers,
Trump's quick to trust the fat between his ears.