The ophthalmologist picked up and fled
with just his credit cards, and trophy wife.
He'd watched Qaddafi hunted, beaten, dead...
and leapt to barter honor for his life.
The heir apparent jousted with a truck;
mismatching masses, vast momentum won.
Succession settled on one day's bad luck
this chinless understudy for a son.
In Moscow, worn out puppets cool their heels
they polish Putin's boots, and sing his praise.
Re'ssuring him the people's love is real
as if they're wistful for tzar Ivan's days.
An empire in decline can't shield its friends;
nobody has a clue how all this ends.
Assad thought Putin'd always have his back
presuming Kremlin coffers would stay filled
But sanctions bite; gas revenue's now Jack
He'd have to pay for future thousands killed.
Dug in, behind Damascus' ancient walls
What's next, a world of pundits couldn't tell
He had emigrate, or take the fall
and join his fellow Baathist thugs in Hell.
The blitzkrieg Putin couldn't pull off in Ukraine
rolled like a Spring storm torrent heaven-sent
his mercenaries quit where there's no gain
to leave their boss alone in Yael's tent.
One chinless exile languishing alone;
six million refugees now turn for home.
The sunrise finds him cooling in his bed
who yesterday planned with his royal wife
a future in which neither one was dead;
denial features in king Charles' life.
His mother'd kept him comfortable in Wales
'til any juice of youth was safely spent.
the dernier cri in well-appointed jails
in which her first-born could be life-long pent.
He's done his duty, got a hale male heir
Like Henry couldn't, 'though--Lord knows-- he tried.
If now he's distant from the red haired Spare,
I tend to blame it on his second bride.
Would I be awfully forward to inquire:
"who gets to throw that woman on his pyre?"
The siblings he had never known in life
embrace their newest brother as their own.
The bargain--in addition to a wife--
now--at a stroke--gets family, and home.
From Orange, to Seattle, (and return?)
the trek you'd never charter in advance
by way of tending forests as they burn
shows human will triumphant over Chance.
Contracted freely by a human hand,
no clergy need intrude in this domain
No fictive Power hanging over Man
needs mediate when Ian met Jermaine.
When speeches, pomp, and pageantry are done,
two lives united joyously make one.
A Nazi rally like we haven't seen
since father Coughlin damned the"Hebrew race"
now broadcast planet-wide by Trump's machine,
appalling even some within his base.
To Vance, Trump seemed a "Hitler" of our own
seductive to uneducated proles.
But Thiel commanded that he change that tone;
such followers are easily controlled.
In Florida, Republicans taste dread
Hispanic voters find his hatefest crass.
In districts that are less than beetroot red,
down-ballot brace to take it in the ass.
Trump's insecurities on bold display
increasingly, drive ethnic votes away.
LaTrobe seemed safe, Trump thought he'd humanize
his bid where voters trended staunchly Red.
Rhapsodic about Arnold Palmer's size,
and how he dreamt of foursomes, while in b,ed.
No prosecutors charging him with graft,
no women seeking child support again
just drooling over Arnold's "strong...stiff shaft"
the way one does when bonding with men's men..
The millions daddy gave him now long gone,
whole fortunes dribbled through his stubby hands.
This textbook insecure spray-tanned DonJuan
seeks --vainly --validation he's a man.
Trump fawning worship of their golfer ace
is weirding out his homophobic base.
Trump now refers to rioters as"we"
like insurrection weren't an offense.
While Vance seeks refuge in his sophistry,
dementia's carried Trump past such pretense.
Disinhibition's gussied up as "BOLD!"
by handlers charged with selling the big con.
We're not supposed to notice he's too old
to finish thoughts, or glop his makeup on.
Superlatives are all he seems to know;
no nuance complicates his thoughts, or speech.
Reality, transcending TV shows
slips daily ever farther out of reach.
Malignant ego's left him largely blind
a legend in his own sclerotic mind.
