Today, he wrote his holy manifesto
He stopped at nine hundred and twenty pages
He’ll gut and eat those hallowed columned buildings
In biting, raving, formulated stages
We said, “but he won’t do that
Besides, it’s just a book.”

Today, he swore to plant a Birnam Wood
Smugly watch it blooming in its slumber
He’ll have the witches killed for defamation
And Macduff’s head atop a spike of lumber
We said, “but that’s not how
The story’s meant to go.”

Today, he vowed that he would save the children
Segment their minds to binaries and slates
He’ll spray the saplings down with pesticides
Then pick them, toss them into wooden crates
We said, “but they won’t buy that
They’re the future, they can think.”

Today, he pledged to squeeze the villains out
The crooks, the cons, the convicts, rats and thieves
He’ll build a wall that’s higher than the sun
Peel families apart like stalks from leaves
We said, “but he can’t do that,
It just wouldn’t make sense.”

Today, he called to fight, to fight, to fight,
Blood trickled down his wrinkled orange head
He’ll live, outlive the charges held against him
The juice of justice; bitter, warm and red
We said, “he can’t
He can’t. Can he?”

Tomorrow, they will crown him like a king,
A supreme leader, starting on day one
He’ll drink his oil and feast his fill of terror
His friends will rule the world and point the gun
We lost. It’s true. It’s sad.
But all fruit rots eventually.