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.