So Donald Trump is about to be sworn in as President. Fancy that. Here’s a children’s poem I’ve written about him.
Have you heard of the trumpulous trump?
Replete with its trumpulous hair?
And using its trumpulous language
With trumpulous words formed to scare?
It lives in a trumpulous building
With a trumpulous solid gold door
With trumpulous gold on the ceilings
And trumpulous rugs on the floor.
And he’s building a trumpulous border
To trumple on drugs, crime and guns.
‘Cos while good fences make for good neighbours,
Great walls make for trumpulous ones.
The trumpulous Trump is doesn’t judge you –
Doesn’t care if your decisions are rash.
Your trumpulous poverty doesn’t matter as much
As the amount of your trumpulous cash.
Now, if you’re not a trumpulous woman,
He won’t understand what you’re at.
He might treat you in a trumpulous fashion
Or grab on to your trumpulous cat.
So resistance is trumpulously futile
As is obstruction and subterfuge,
Because the trumpulous Trump is in charge now
And the trumpulous future is Huge.
So prepare for your rights to be trumpled,
And for respect to end up on the floor,
And for waves of kids in trumpulous wigs
When you open the Halloween door.
But don’t despair of this trumpulous era –
Or get lost in the trumpulous maze –
Because the world may only be trumpulous
For fourteen hundred and sixty one days.