August 2015 - December 2016: Prologue - Words Matter!

Words matter! Even more so when they’re spoken in a place
Or at a time, or by a person with a public face
Bestowed with certain privileges to help them represent
The public that appointed them to serve; but not to vent

Their every private musing, insecurity, or worse,
To tilt the public discourse in a way that lines their purse;
Or air their dirty laundry, spread their battles far and wide,
And drag their voting public in, demand they pick a side.

And so I turn to Jefferson. Of all the things he wrote
The following’s most prescient, so I’ve paraphrased his quote.
He’s writing here of why, if he was forced to pick a side,
He’d vote for CNN, and not defer to Donald’s pride:

“The people are the only censors of their government:
The people may make errors, but our laws were never meant
To give some higher class the right to punish or suppress
Such errors. Public liberty is sacred, which we stress

By giving to the people all the details that they need
To understand their government’s affairs; for those who lead
Do so to serve their people, not the other way around,
The implications of this concept are deep and profound,

Demanding that the public papers (that’s “the press” today)
Should penetrate this land of ours so all sides have their say.
And were it left to me to choose which way this land should go:
A government without the press, where people have to toe

The party line with no recourse, no voice, like huddled sheep?
Or, as a bold alternative, the press alone to keep,
To leave them free from government that tries to crush critique?
I should not hesitate at all to help the people speak;

The papers… they would be my pick! But friends, we must be clear
I wrote these words two hundred thirty years ago. But here
You’re struggling in much different times… “newspapers” have a lot
Of competition from so many sources that are bought

And owned and paid in endless ways, by those who have the means
And motivation to insert themselves as in-betweens…
Between the people and the folks elected as their voice
In Washington. On one hand, this has given much more choice

For every man to get his news (and every woman too),
But are you now more capable at reading? Seeing through
The “news” and spotting facts and understanding all the trends
That buffet all your daily lives, your family’s and friends’?”

That Jefferson was one smart dude, his hammer hit the nail
Upon the head. That hammer’s once again about to sail,
Upon it’s bold trajectory, and thrown by many hands,
From all across this nation and from many other lands;

To scatter those who’d have us think our enemy’s the press,
For that’s a lie that Donald tells, like all those who obsess
Upon their stature in the news. He has a hammer too;
It’s rather small, and rather light, and what he’s trying to do

Is drive a wedge in awkwardly between the news, like FOX,
Whose ratings he can elevate (for friends who’ve purchased stocks?)
And outlets with more balanced news, whose profits aren’t tied
To writing stories that obscure the many ways he’s lied.

Dear Donald, this is one fight that you’ll wish you didn’t pick,
The one that showed the country that your skin is just not thick
Enough to run this nation and fulfill the duties that
We the people all demand of those who go to bat

As President. Your batting av’rage… honestly Herr Trump,
It’s getting quite embarrassing, we’ve never seen a slump
So deep, so early in the career of a president.
Those guys who give you batting practice? It’s time they were sent

Back down to the minor leagues, where amateurs can toy
With playground bats whose wild swings don’t threaten to destroy
The nation and its people (…well at least the fifty-four
Percent of those who didn’t vote for you). This metaphor

About the skills of baseball players, that’s one we can use
To help to better analyze the plan behind this ruse
Of yours; to hit into the shift to left field that the land
Had undergone, and left the right field weakened… as you planned

And executed with your bullpen bullying of all
Those right wing candidates who started in this game of ball.
On August sixth, two thousand and fifteen it all began
In Cleveland with the first debate. The headlines that they ran

(The “fake news”, “lying media”, both print and on the air)
On August seventh angered you, but also sent a scare
Through all the other candidates Republicans had found,
To join you on the stage, beneath the lights, for the first round:

Positioned on the stage by how they stood then in the polls,
With Donald in the middle (and his hands on the controls),
Though Jeb Bush and Scott Walker and Mike Huckabee all thought
That they could pull off victory, they really had a shot;

Ben Carson (he’s a doctor who can operate on brains);
Ted Cruz, Marco Rubio both needed to show gains;
Next Rand Paul (a Senator whose home state is Kentucky);
And on his heels Chris Christie, who was hoping for a lucky

Break that evening. Last but not least, rounding out the night,
Governor John Kasich, hanging in and here to fight.
Distinguished by experience, and all their expertise
In policy, their years of service… very little sleaze

Was evident, until Trump strolled, amid this gravitas,
Into the bullpen, grinning, and then started kicking ass.
His comments were incendiary, but the stern rebuke
From coaches and his teammates, only served to make him puke

Upon their cleats, and bats, and gloves, ‘till one by one they caved
And left the game, which also left Republicans enslaved
With Donald’s yoke about their necks. He sent them to the mound
“Just lob me slow balls gentlemen, and watch how, when I pound

These balls of yours to left field, how that hungry fielding mass
Of toiling and forgotten labor voters on the grass
Are suddenly all shouting back and asking us for more,
As many balls as we can hit them. Why? They all adore

A man like me who hands out hats that stir the hearts of men
Who think, to make America a land that’s great again,
We’ll need to build a wall to stop the foreigners who pour
Into our land and steal our jobs… a very simply core

Around which I can build a platform that will soon attract
A slice of Democratic votes that’s big enough, when whacked,
Out of their pie and placed in ours, would prob’ly be enough
To win the next election… even though it could be tough

To actually give them what they want. But one thing at a time.
You either give me what I want, or else (it’s quite sublime)
I’ll run an independent race, and trigger the collapse
Of everything Republican. You won’t survive.” Perhaps

He made some other threats, but that one was enough.
Paul Ryan and the others realized it would be tough
To find another ball team, so they kneeled and gave the bat
To Donald Trump, to lead them on, and that my friends was that!


*****


Fast forward… to November eighth, two thousand and sixteen,
We held our breath as voting numbers rolled across the screen;
On televisions, Internet, or cell phones in our hands,
The numbers showed a voting trend outside the polling bands

For either party, red or blue… and both camps showed their shock;
The Democrats collapsed in tears, while Trump appraised his flock
One final time, before the talk he never thought he’d give -
His vict’ry speech. At least, we thought, he’s left the combative,

Offensive, and belligerent persona in the wings,
While he repeated all his promises to do great things,
“Beautiful, successful things”. And so we hoped and prayed
Some magic transformation would allow him to be made

Into a proper statesman, with the feet to fill the shoes,
The hands to take the rudder, and the mind to help him choose
His words a little better when he steps upon the stage
As President… or better, read the words upon the page

Or teleprompter; stick to scripts that others help to write.
And start to lead the country and stop looking for a fight.
The one thing that would surely make ignominy his fate,
Is trying to serve his private life and party on one plate.

For that’s a meal this country has no stomach to consume
(And honestly, there’s not a plate with nearly enough room
To hold it all). We hoped he’d get his appetite suppressed,
Take mouth-sized bites of things the country really needs addressed.

We hoped he’d push the crazy Donald smorgasbord aside,
And search for new ingredients, with skilled chefs at his side,
To trim the body politic, restore the nation’s stride,
To build a leaner Washington, infusing, from outside,

A new perspective, business like, with discipline to match
The rhetoric. Alas, my friends, that dream would never hatch.
Before our New Year’s parties we’d already stood and watched
As Donald stuffed his face with every crazy dish, then botched

The job of swallowing his meal, he barfed the whole mess up,
On Twitter, in the media… then grabbed his poison cup,
And took an extra swig or two, to quiet down the gas,
That critics seem to give him, but that also failed. Alas,

His thunderous roars, bombastic bursts, appear to have no end
Extending what we hoped had waned, this truly ugly trend
Of poisoning the atmosphere in which the core debates
Occur in our democracy, in all our 50 states.

My greatest shock, I have to share, in watching this evolve,
Was just how hard it was to find the words that might dissolve
The toxic air that suddenly had masses in the street
To protest Donald’s backward blasts, to protest with their feet.

Comedians and anchors who could once dispel such gloom
With illuminating humor, struggled in the plume
Of toxic tailwinds pointed at them by the Trump campaign;
They simply couldn’t find the words that might help to explain

Just what the hell is going on?! But one thing is quite clear,
There’s something bad that’s going on, that shouldn’t happen here.
And some of the examples are just downright scary stuff.
Like on December twenty-nine, Obama had enough;

Ejecting Russian citizens, they totaled thirty-five,
For skewing the election to keep Trump’s campaign alive.
While posing here as diplomats, they really worked as spies
Who helped to hack the DNC and weave news out of lies,

News that supported Donald Trump. Yet what did Putin do?
Turf out thirty-five of ours? Bang a table with his shoe
Like Khrushchev did so long ago? No, oddly, not a thing…
And Trump’s response to “nothing” was to let his praises sing:

“I always knew that Vladimir, a strong man just like me,
Was smart enough to spot a friendly face; that he would see
That Donald is a man who deals to win and won’t be vexed.
I knew he wouldn’t retaliate… he told me in a text!”

“But all that stuff is private, you should trust me when I say,
I owe these Russians nothing, they don’t hold me in their sway!”
Methinks he doth protest too much, and man, his story smokes,
And hints at fires so dangerous, we’ll need more than just jokes

From late night personalities, to help put these ones out.
But suddenly they fought to squeeze a trickle from their spout:
Jon Stewart, Steven Colbert, Trevor Noah, all these men,
John Oliver, Bill Maher, and the crew on CNN,

Samantha Bee and Kate McKinnon, other ladies too,
The News Hour team on PBS, they also battled through
A post-election bout of “What the hell’s the story here?”
Is this an emp’ror with no clothes, perhaps an uncle, dear

But dizzy, vulgar, harmless, rich enough to keep him close,
While making sure he takes his meds and takes the proper dose?
Or something far more cancerous, whose risks must be revealed,
Before the records are withdrawn, and everything is sealed

From public view? My friends we’ve never seen it get this bad,
He really numbs the vocal chords, this emperor unclad.
Together Trump and Bannon ran a bellicose campaign,
Designed to shout down critics and sow doubt in every brain

That struggled with the lack of facts behind what Trump “believes”;
They stole their opposition’s voice, this crafty pair of thieves.
The shock wave generated on the day that Donald won,
Blasted out from deep within the land. And to outrun

The blast was hopeless, as it swept both to the left and right
Across the country, then proceeded on, and taking flight
It circled ‘round the globe, and not a single soul was spared
The devastating consequences. Knocked down, shocked, and scared,

Everyone from children, parents, students, teachers too,
Professionals and politicians, diplomats who threw
Themselves for cover, world leaders, anchors on the news
Across the spectrum, left to right, regardless of their views,

Comedians on late night shows, those masters of retort,
They also joined the millions waving weakly to report
Their complete and utter loss of words with which to try
And comprehend, and to articulate a “How…”, or “Why…”,

Or “What the hell is going on?!” Dumbstruck these millions stood;
They stared out blankly at their world, and knew this cant’ be good.
And that my friends is why I’d like to give you all this choice
Of metaphors: to give those stricken dumbstruck back their voice;

Lift spirits in these crazy times, and help relieve the pain
Of watching all the turmoil in the news; and to explain
The cast of puppeteers now pulling strings behind the stage,
While many in the audience look on in silent rage.

Remember, that once rooted, loss of speech, growing worse with time,
Has deadly consequences. So, feel free to grab a rhyme
To use at home, at school, at work, or on the Senate floor;
And have some fun! Speak up, fight back, with lethal metaphor!

*****

A very Happy New Year I would like to wish you all!
Recharge and then be ready when you next receive the call
To raise your voice, or hoist a sign, or simply lift your pen;
I think in January we’ll be doing this again.

© Duncan Malc
December 31, 2016

January 2017: Donald's Deadly Roller Coaster

By January twentieth, inauguration day,
The volume switch in Washington was turned up all the way.
The nation and the world cupped their hands to shield their ears
From dissonance and discord that had many folks in tears.

It got so loud, it got so bad, the news of Donald Trump;
It ended years of slumber, making clear it’s time to jump
To task my friends. So grab your quills, and put some ink to scroll…
Or better yet, breathe in, relax, then let your fingers roll,

Across your smart phone keyboards friends, and fire back a Tweet
At frigid folks in Washington who need to feel some heat.
They’ve gone too far, and left unchecked, they’ll steer us down a track,
That narrows soon and leaves no room for easy turning back.

This track leads to an ugly place, we’ve seen this place before,
It comes into existence when, seduced by power’s whore,
A heady morning after glow infects the minds of those,
Who’ve landed in a pulpit they can slam on people’s toes.

This bully instinct, childish, raw, and immature at best,
Emerges in us primates when we learn to beat our chest,
To warn the other primates who are playing with our toys
That we want them back, instead of sharing in the joys

That come from growing more mature and lifting up our eyes
To look beyond our toybox and to start to recognize
Diversity for what it is, the very core of life!
The fear of this diversity, the cause of so much strife,

Can sweep through bullies’ minds in waves, that start as tiny swells,
Triggered by discomfort when some basic instinct tells
Them that their pile of toys bestows some magic source of power
That they can wield to make the other children kneel and cower.

A very childish point of view, that adults soon dispel,
But when a scolding doesn’t work, we sometimes have to yell,
Or introduce a book to read, perhaps “Lord of the Flies”;
‘Cause boys like Trump are why this book has won a Nobel Prize!

But Donald never read too much, he says he has no time,
Unless his picture’s on the front, which helps his ego climb
A step or two towards that goal, that drives so many mad,
To stand before the podium… alone… with cheering, glad,

Adoring throngs, whose numbers grow, and fill the camera’s view
(At least from one good angle… all the others can’t be true!)
As bigly grows the cheering mass, and raindrops start to fall,
It soon becomes the biggest crowd that ever graced the Mall.

Except when it was bigger all those other times before,
To hear the words of Presidents whose words will always soar
Above the “carnage”, “rust”, “decay” that Donald needs to sell
To help convince his voting base that they’re not doing well.

And in his mind, the cheering throng, stood rapt before his eyes;
His hand upon two bibles, he gazed up into the skies,
And willed the clouds to hold their load a couple minutes more,
‘Cause when his hair gets wet, my friends, he’s harder to adore!

Inaugurations in this land are followed up by balls
To celebrate the peaceful switch of power within the halls
Of government in Washington, within that big White House,
Where presidents take residence, and sometimes bring a spouse.

It’s really quite remarkable, this calm between the fights,
Where two guerilla parties, one the lefties, one the rights,
Who’ve divi’ed up a nation ‘tween the middle and the coasts,
Throw dinners where the winners fill the evening sharing toasts:

“The next four years!” But even more remarkable this year,
It only took a single day for protests to appear
From coast to coast, across the land, and in the middle too,
A mass of voices millions strong all bonded by a glue

Whose single key ingredient, the campaign raves and rants
From Donald’s ugly campaign stump, all echoed back in chants,
On placards, t-shirts, banners too, by marchers young and old,
Who’ve made it clear we prize the rights he’s angling to withhold.

The stars emblazoned on that wall inside the CIA,
A solemn recognition of the sacrifice some pay,
In service to their country and the ideals it invokes,
Yet Donald chose this moment for another round of jokes…

Enough you fool! Shut up you tool, if you can’t learn to speak
In measured tones, instead of like a bucket with a leak
That can’t be plugged because its contents give off such a stink,
Your own advisors cannot catch their breath to cry out: “Think

Dear Sir! We have a bucket that we had to fill up too,
A huge one filled with whitewash that we use whenever you
Put stains upon the landscape that we need to cover thick,
But at this pace we’ll use up all our whitewash far too quick!”

Now back in nineteen eighty-nine the Berlin wall was breached
‘Cause Ronald Reagan went there and he called out, he beseeched:
“Tear down this wall”. In fact, he said a lot more than just that.
“If you seek peace, prosperity, it’s time to end this spat

With Mexico”, he’d say today, if he were here with us.
“This wall of yours is bullshit” (yes, I’m sure that he would cuss!)
“For freedom and security, together hand in hand,
Are pillars that America must share with every land.”

There is no place for petty fears, or jealousy of jobs,
In factories WE built down there. The fact you claim that robs
Some poor souls here of riches that you somehow can return,
Just shows Trump University’s a crappy place to learn

The simplest facts of business, economics, finance too;
It also shows the looney bin’s a better house for you
Than Pennsylvania Avenue. Your grasp of many facts,
The real ones or alternatives, this shows a man who lacks

So many of the qualities without which you can’t lead.
I’ve asked a few psychologists, and every one’s agreed,
The likely diagnosis is a tangled neural mass
That’s rapidly descending from your head down to your ass.

It’s only been eleven days, yet look how deep you’ve dug
This hole you’ll soon be buried in like some dictator thug,
Your newest round of bullying, of seven Muslim lands,
Without a Trump hotel or tower, or any other brands

Your party cohorts care about, which makes this new crusade
A low risk opportunity to fill that pledge you made
To fan the tribal fires that brought voters to your ranks;
But you’ll soon find the cost of this will far outweigh their thanks.

The pledge attorneys general in fifteen states have made:
To work together so the Constitution is obeyed,
And to preserve the rule of law that so defines this land
Of immigrants from far and wide, with no one nation banned

Because of xenophobic claims that scrutiny disproves,
And leaves you on this chess board, Sir, with few attractive moves.
A pawn’s the piece upon the board you’ll soon resemble most;
Your party only let you in to get them past the post.

Yes, politics is conflict, and it has no steady state,
And every despot ever known has suffered the same fate,
The constant churning battles from within the very crew
That props them up while plotting all the while how they can screw

Their fellow cast of sycophants, get closer to the top,
And have a chance at greater spoils as one by one they drop
To greed, subversion, plots and schemes, and pure unbridled lust;
Each hoards the power they can grab, forsakes their people’s trust.

Perhaps the fifty four percent who didn’t cast their votes
For Donald’s new Republicans are why the ugly notes
Their vict’ry horns are blaring try to cover up the rise
In members of their party who are struggling with the lies.

Like claiming other countries, smaller weaker, far less rich,
Are stealing all our jobs and wealth. If you believe this pitch,
Then you’ll believe much worse my friends, and much worse waits in store;
The RICHEST land on planet earth should not now ask for MORE,

As Donald Trump said you should do the day you went to vote;
No constitution gives that right, no laws we ever wrote.
The only aim such politics can help support today,
Is to distract democracy while madmen have their way.

This bloody brand of “leadership”, where anything you say,
When wrapped in causes populist, is suddenly OK,
Because the echoes coming back must surely justify
That others think just like you think: “an eye deserves an eye”!

There is no family puppy in this White House, but instead
They’ve hired a pack of guard dogs. They’re the kind that have been bred
To sink their teeth into your thigh, yes just above the knee,
And not let go until they’ve silenced all who disagree.

They’ve also got attack dogs, really mean ones, on a rope,
They’re bred to threaten protest crowds with which Trump cannot cope.
It all sounds so Orwellian… disturbing… once again,
It looks like dogs are standing up to aid the plots of men.

A dog that barks like Bannon barks has far too oft been kicked;
A dog that barks like Kellyanne just wants its bottom licked.
If you have read “Animal Farm”, it’s easy to capiche
Why Trump now wears a collar, while Steve Bannon holds a leash.

When Spicer stepped before the press, he read his script then ran,
The explanation that we got, the one from Kellyanne,
About this trumped-up class of facts she calls “alternative”,
Left Anderson on CNN in stitches! As I live,

I never thought I’d see that man’s composure fail to hold,
But when it broke, he laughed my friends, he couldn’t even scold
The silly lady as she sat straight faced, just looking smug,
For every time she says these things, she earns a Donald hug,

And Orwell earns a royalty! His “Nineteen Eighty-Four”
Has seen a burst of sales since Madame Conway made us roar
In fits of laughter tempered with a healthy dose of dread
That she might actually believe these crazy things she’s said!

Then Priebus went on “Meet the Press”, but didn’t perform too well,
“I didn’t sign up for crap like this” he’s thinking, you can tell.
When Bannon grabbed the NSC, the swamp began to rise,
With fumes around his ankles, creeping up towards his thighs,

As noxious as they ever were, and maybe even worse.
Poor lonely Lady Liberty’s left clutching at her skirts,
Assaulted by an army that now claims it’s won the right
To rape and pillage as they please, but mostly just to spite

The losers, the opponents, all the critics far and wide:
“We’re doing what we said we would, so welcome to the ride…
The White House Roller Coaster! And we’ve built a special track,
That triggers motion sickness if you protest or attack

Our policies or methods. And it’s working really well,
Departments throughout Washington are seeing quite a swell
In numbers of departures, and for those who need a hand
Each car has an ejection seat, just like we always planned!”

Reduced to an amusement park, the next thing that we’ll see,
The White House and the Congress tacking on an entrance fee.
And even worse, they’ll hand out scripts, auditions won’t be free,
They’ll make the world a stage for their reality TV.

And all those struggling actors who could never find a stage
To vent their xenophobic fears, to share with us their rage,
Will jump before the camera, and wielding gun or knife,
Exchange their every freedom for the chance to take a life.

We woke to news from Canada, from Quebec, Muslims shot
While kneeling, praying, in a mosque. The shooter? He was not
As Fox News tweeted boldly, from Morocco, but instead,
A student, white and Christian, who had voices in his head.

The loudest of those voices, Donald Trump, Marine Le Pen,
Have failed to speak against this act, their silence once again,
A peep hole to the hearts and minds of darkness cold and deep,
A tacit invitation that will only serve to keep

The fires of hatred burning. And if that’s the price you’d pay
To triumph at election time, you’ll soon regret the day.
The demons you’ve set loose at home, and many other lands,
Would suck the blood from freedom’s heart and spit it on your hands.

But freedom’s armor’s far too strong, and freedom wields a sword
That routs those demons in retreat; and freedom sings a chord
That resonates and floods us with a warmth and light so strong,
It burns and blinds her enemies, all those who’d do her wrong.

So, as you start to feel the heat, and as your vision fails,
And as your demons dissipate and give you back the pails
You hoped they’d fill with all the blood you need to bathe the whore
You’re trying to rejuvenate, your land of nevermore.

Just let her die. Those days are gone. They’re never coming back.
We’ll let you lead us forward, but won’t reverse down that track,
So overgrown and rutted, leading downward to a pit,
That Bannon helped you excavate. What did he tell you it

Would hold one day? What do you plan to hide from prying eyes?
Remember time will polish truth but crumble all the lies
That you may think that you can hide… they’ll all come out one day.
While there’s still time to do it, you should simply turn away.

Turn back to doing the job you won, to building out your team,
You’ve only gotten nine confirmed. At that pace, it would seem
You’re going to need a year or two to start to govern right,
Which will not help Republicans to fight their mid-term fight.

John Kelly, he’s got Homeland quite securely in his hand;
General James Mattis knows how Defense should be planned.
Pompeo at the CIA will keep our spies in line,
While Wilbur Ross in Commerce, he will probably be fine.

Ben Carson at the helm of HUD? An interesting choice…
Though Nikki Haley will not hesitate to raise her voice
In her role as Ambassador for us at the U.N.
While Ryan Zinke is convinced the time has come again

To let the folks who mine the earth achieve their stated goal,
Ensuring the Interior is mined without a toll
For dumping waste in mountain streams. And then a big surprise,
Rick Perry running Energy? Where do you find these guys?

While Elaine Chao knows Transportation routes across the land,
She’s not a bad selection… Elaine gave George Bush a hand
For eight years as his Labor pick. But Foremost on her mind
Is spending her inheritance. And maybe Trump will find

A piece of real estate that she and Mitch McConnell can
Invest in (cause they’re man and wife). It’s really time we ban
The use of White House privilege to manage private wealth
Of public servants with the means to do it all in stealth.

Instead, please focus on your plans to help maintain the trend
Obama set in motion to recover from the end-
Of-the-world crisis back in two-thousand and eight,
When mortgage meg’lomania led us right to the gate

Of a Depression. Eight years later, you must now admit,
The fire in our economy has fin’lly been relit.
Momentum … you’ve inherited. You haven’t yet done much
To help ensure continuous improvements. What you touch

From here on forward, and the things you choose to leave alone,
Will both be very critical to prove you weren’t just thrown
Together from a pile of clippings from the Breitbart folks;
Their readers won’t be loyal if you become the brunt of jokes

That sting them too. We’d be OK if you would launch a mix
Of cutbacks in the red tape where the stuff to which it sticks
Is plenty sturdy on its own and doesn’t need the tape,
To hold it all together. Next up tackle the landscape

Of roads and rails and bridges that need mending really bad.
An infrastructure boost in spending always makes us glad,
Not only putting folks to work, but helping to prepare
A platform for expanding productivity. Beware,

However, those protectionist demands that many make
Without the slightest clue of what they’re saying. Time to take
A stand for all the policies that, since World War two,
Have opened markets worldwide, and linked them. Not to skew

The playing field, as simpletons would have us all believe. Instead
These linkages have helped to couple engines that have fed
Economies and populations ‘round the globe who buy
The products that Americans produce. And now to eye

Them all with envy and suspicion, brand them all as thieves,
Is the type of nonsense only an idiot believes.
Abandoning the TPP thus falls within this class
Of hyperbolic action that will one day bite your ass.

On January twenty-fourth, the Dow hit twenty “K”
(That’s twenty-thousand for those who prefer to count that way).
This major market milestone, however, ain’t a sign
That underlying economic health is doing fine.

It simply means the market’s priced in what it thinks you’ll do;
The market will now tumble back if you don’t follow through.
A roller coaster market would torpedo all your fun,
And, unlike in the White House, you don’t get to steer this one!

*****

Man… what a month… I didn’t think we’d ever see the end
Of January. But I fear that with the current trend,
In politics unpresidented… all that’s come to light…
It’s likely February will bring plenty more to write.

© Duncan Malc
January 31, 2017

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