Hurricane Donald

Hurricane Donald

What mighty wind blows hard out of Mar-A-Lago
up-ending facts like trailers in a trailer park
ripping the roofs off reputations
revealing the gyrations in the bedrooms below
hailing down bombast and innuendo
on the corrugated tin of truth
a wind that makes Ian and Fiona
look like that nice Scottish couple across the road
(Is she Irish?), the ones you should invite over for dinner
or is it just a storm in a tumbler
is it just Donald raving
in the cocktail hour of his years.

Taking part in Open Link Weekend over at earthweal

15 thoughts on “Hurricane Donald

  1. Sherry Marr

    The orange menace – the purge that keeps purging . I relished your poem to the max. Not sure I can survive much more orange, I barely kept this side of the madhouse his first reign; my sense of justice was so outraged. How is it he lives above the law? Someone who incited a riot is not supposed to be allowed to run. I will never understand the trump aberration. It’s as if all reason has left the building, replaced by some very weird Koolaid. Your poem is very wry, witty and perfect. Let’s hope it is the nightcap of his years rather than the cocktail hour.


  2. hedgewitch

    There is nothing but raving when it comes to Donald–and the hurricane analogy is totally apt. The path of his destruction is still being tallied, and I don’t think there is a damage figure high enough to encompass it. As always, Jim, excellently crafted and a pleasure to read.



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