Trump for President: two poems — Lewis Parker

Trump for President

So you told them all how much you love
the poorly educated. Mobile homes, grill pans,
mayonnaise, ketchup, the Miami Dolphins.
I’ll respect the outcome of whatever happens down there.
They know I could be the first guy who lives here
with his own cologne, his own scent, his fragrance?
Is that what they call it? Sperm. I got the
best sperm. The best. You need any of that stuff
you come to me. And I’m going to
buy Russia. Buy it. You heard me right.
We’ll exchange it for Alaska
and make the Chinese pay for it.
We’ll put taco stands in Moscow,
in Red Square, in the Kremlin,
all over the Middle East.
You know I hear a lot of things. A lot.
Staggering, you’re staggering,
you’re staggeringly one-dimensional.
Get em out of here, no violence!
Be nice. Be gentle. Be what you need to. Make deals.
Are you a Satanist? No, you’re a
used car salesmen from Hampton, New Jersey.
Waiter, get em out of here. Out.
Out you go! So the other night
I’m getting ready to go out, leave the Tower.
I’m standing in front of the wall,
she’s looking beautiful –
hey guy, out! Out! Be rough this time! –
and I say, why don’t I get me another one of these.
One to stop them coming in,
one to stop them getting out.
Tell them anything, and you know what,
they’ll believe me because
I’m the most modest person I know.
She fought hard, she fought, alright,
give her some credit, but such a nasty woman,
such a, I don’t know, don’t you ever feel like
if the Kennedys were here, all they’d dream about
was me, me, me? People talk about the power –
the POWER – of television, all the professors
in Harvard and Yale and places like that –
yup, that’s right, get em out. Out!
Fling em by the ears! Let’s see how
far away they land – but I got to say,
the CIA’s blocking the highway with its book of dreams.
The media. The channel of hurricanes.
The cables, the talk shows, the tube fillings,
I think we need an uplift, an interface,
our cybersecurity needs a gardener, a cruel gardener,
and they are afraid of me on my lawnmower.
These people from where are you from? –
Denton, Texas? Get em outta here! –
from the freeways, the places with the donuts
and the flyovers and the serial murderers –
remember the names, the dates, but don’t say em out loud! –
and the express checkout stalls and the semiautomatic rifles,
which I’ll let them keep, since you’re asking,
but just not in here, not tonight
because I want you to come here, come closer,
turn the lights down low.
I’m going to grab you by the pussy.

***

Maybe I’m a Criminal

The notes from an aborted speech were discovered
and so I ran into the Catskill mountains
with a broken banjo and a bottle of hooch.
In me is the shame of the hillbilly.
I have paid my price in exile.
I have seen the horrors of industry –
it has haunted me, that backwoods ghost.
Yet when I return to the city
for one time only
it will be to vote for Hillary Rodham Clinton.


Lewis G. Parker is the founder of Morbid Books, a publisher whose aim is to #makepoetrygreatagain. Their latest books are 100 Haikus about Haemorrhoid Cream by Lewis Parker and Friends and 100 Haikus about Penetration by Edmund Davie, available from retailers this Xmas. Morbidbooks.net