Poetry

Conor Collins

By

Wayne F Burke

President Donald Trump

I read the words in the newspaper

and realized

it is true and

not a bizarre dream:

my fellow citizens

in a fit of delirium

had voted Trumpian;

the orange-haired Wonderkind

with the crass style

will sit with Roosevelt

and Lincoln

inside the oval office…

What was unthinkable has been thought.

What seemed unbelievable has been brought

to be:

is it some kind of joke?

If so,

an unfunny one

with a punchline yet to be

delivered.

He Ha

remember when Trump was a joke

and everyone was laughing at him

and Hillary had that big smile

plastered to her face

during the debates?

That smile that let us, the viewers, know

that she knew Trump was a joke

and that she knew that we knew

he was a joke

and that she knew that we knew that she knew

he was a joke?

The fat lady has sung

and no one is laughing now,

least of all, Hillary.

Least of all

me.

Wayne F Burke

Wayne F. Burke’s poetry has appeared in a variety of publications (including Tuck Magazine). His three published poetry collections, all from Bareback Press, are WORDS THAT BURN, DICKHEAD, and KNUCKLE SANDWICHES. His chapbook PADDY WAGON is published by Epic Rites Press. He lives in the state of Vermont (USA).