#100peoplepoems part 74: Donald

On the occasion of a fly landing in Donald Trump’s hair (After Robert Burns’ “To A Louse”) 
Where are you going, crawling fellow? You seem quite tranquil, even mellow

Although your host doth blast and bellow

With bile and hate

You wonder through the field of yellow 

Upon his pate

This ugly, creeping, bastard conner. 

Detested, shunned by saint and sinner

How how dare he try to thus dishonour 

His country’s name?

Go somewhere else and seek your dinner 

Don’t feed on shame. 

Oh! in some stinking pile of shit 

There you may rest, and wait a bit

With all your kindred, little twit

In shoals and nations; 

Where spray nor swat can e’er unseat

Your conversations. 

Now you stay there, you’re in plain sight, 

Above those eyeballs , small and tight; 

Now, look at this! You won’t feel right, 

Until you’re there 

The very topmost, towering height 

Of Donald’s hair. 

My god! You boldly try to clamber 

Trapped in that nest as though in amber 

If only you could put a damper

Upon their fandom

Of this vile Grand Old Party member.

Oh how he scammed ’em!

I would not be surprised to spy 

You on a plate of food laid by, 

For weeks and smelling pretty high

Just feasting on it;

But on this politician, fie! 

He’ll make you vomit!

O Donald, still you rant and bawl, 

Of how you’re gonna build that wall

And you have no idea at all

About your guest

You’d kill it quick and let it fall:

It’s for the best.

When Bernie Sanders’ voice was heard

He even charmed  a little bird

And, Donald, though it seems absurd

It makes me think:

A crawling blowfly to have lured…

How you must stink!