The Donald at the Plate
The votes were tough to come by in the Congress on that day;
The leaders sought agreement but the members had their say.
And then one member voted "No," another did the same;
With this failure of consensus, the Chairman laid out blame.
The faces of the members showed a shadow of despair;
And desperate for a winner, held a meeting with the Chair;
Said, "Let's eke out a margin and get Donald to the plate—
To the bully and his bluster, we'll entrust our party's fate!"
But the House preceded Donald, and the Senate, goodness sake;
The House's dealings riotous, the Senate's were opaque.
So upon the true believers, a piteous sadness sat,
They'd dreamed of killing health care with one swing of the bat.
Then the House cooked up a bill, to the wonderment of all,
And the Senate dreamed up another, in a most astounded hall!
When the smoke-filled rooms were opened, all saw what had occurred,
They were desperate to pass anything, lest Donald break his word.
Donald's strident partisans let loose a thunderous roar;
So sure the one they'd chosen would find a way to score;
They called out loud from every door, and at the White House gate,
As mighty Donald waved his hat to Make-America-Great.
Confident, Donald felt himself a tribute to his race.
Pride fueled Donald's swagger; a grin adorned the Donald's face.
And greeting the adoring throngs, he lightly touched his hair;
Even foes could not deny,'twas Donald under there.
Like eagles we all watched him and the hacks that he inserted;
But partisans applauded Cabinet missions he subverted.
As pleading migrants wailed when thrown back upon their ship,
He hired brutal border guards to tighten his harsh grip.
And such his cruel pronouncements came tweeting through the air;
Seeing, we could scarce believe how coarse the drivel written there.
Immigration court's injunction, then past the Donald sped—
"That ain't my style," said Donald. "Strike one!" the judges said.
On benches black-robed jurists, with calm dignity they bore
The rumblings and the grumblings of Donald's partisan roar;
"Fire them! Fire the judges!" his base shouted long and loud;
"Crooked Hillary!" screamed others. Nodding, Donald worked the crowd.
When questions came of fake news traced back to Russia's zone;
Attention was diverted with tweets a-flying from his phone.
His poison pill for health care, the Senate finally withdrew,
Donald just shrugged off defeat, as the Congress said, "Strike two!"
He redirected wrath toward a foreign terror foe.
Believers knew that Donald wouldn't let that third strike go.
Hushed, they watched him hunker down—muscles tense and senses strained,
They knew as Donald promised, he'd make sure that swamp was drained.
His crew knew that Donald would ne'er admit a loser's fate,
His pledge to build a border wall, still left upon his plate.
Fed up with his cruel prejudice, we debunked this sorry show,
"We won't allow your border wall. We The People just say—No!"
O'er rocky mountain majesties and plains of wind-swept grains,
The sun still smiles on city streets and factory window panes;
But in the Oval Office—head thrown back, lips in full pout—
Darkness fills his tiny space—mighty Donald has struck out.
by Don Fleming
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Don Fleming of northern KY has slipped the shackles of gainful employment and turned to selected commentary. His poetry was included in the exhibit EAT: A Literature + Photo Installation at Centre College and in the anthology These Summer Months: Stories from The Late Orphan Project (The Backpack Press).