Rain from a clear blue sky,
unseasonal or else simply wrong
for May. May I interest you,
Mr. Trump, in the ghetto statecraft
of the House? Jackals always bite
and snap and you, with your
certainty on this day, finally
something to crow about, would
do well to remember the bloody shards
in their teeth. Today I read
a voter’s pamphlet in which one
earnest lunatic running for the ESD
misspelled ‘their.’ Twice.
I’d put him in the office over you
any day, and likely so would that mob
you cracked a Bud with this afternoon.
If wishes were horses they’d trample you
while you tried to get them into a line.
There’s not a plot to lose.

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