(2037) The Funeral of Donald Trump – A Futuristic Forecast

“But you tell me over and over and over again my friend

Ah, you don't believe we're on the eve of destruction” – Barry McGuire

I imagine that a cursory glance at this post’s title might lead one to believe something controversial this way comes. Let me be clear, am I calling for Donald Trump’s demise? Umm, err, (stutter, stutter)… no! This is neither present day flight of fancy, nor profound prophecy, but rather a highly imaginary, fictionalized, dystopian envisioning of the possibilities and aftermath of a Trump presidency - meant to entertain, not to become part of history’s reportage.

Again, Secret Service, FBI, CIA, NRA, KKK, YWCA or PTA this is neither a threat, nor a call for a hit on this worthless, parasitic slug of an almost human being, just a little verse about the worst.

(2037) The Funeral of Donald Trump

“Our God is dead!”

The headlines read

In Trump Times and on Trump Cable.

Donald Junior's in charge

On his throne, living large,

As the Trump Manifesto enabled.

There’s a line of succession

You’ll be shot if you question.

Next in turn, his most current wife/daughter

An in-family conception

Born of Donald’s oppression

Of Ivanka, initial wife/daughter.

Neo Nazis were there

Guns held proudly in air.

While the KKK played honor guard.

Only whites now are free,

By the first Trump decree

But for slaves, all the rest have been barred.

The poor kneel in the street

Beg for scraps of Trump Meat

Though they fear that it’s processed from people.

Then they rise to their feet

Ordered off to retreat

For a vigil at Trump Church and Steeple.

Then, of course, there’s the flag

Once a tri-colored rag,

Now, an image of Don’s snarling lips.

And the dollar, past tense

Also gone are the cents,

As we pay now with Trump Blackjack chips.

No more Senate, no House

No nine judges to grouse,

No long-winded and old Constitution.

Declaration repealed,

For the Art of the Deal.

And a nation cries for absolution.

 “Don't you understand, what I'm trying to say?
Can't you feel the fears that I'm feeling today?
If the button is pushed, there's no running away
There'll be none to save with the world in a grave
Take a look around you, boy, it's bound to scare you, boy”

Any comments, questions, criticisms, candid confessions, cash contributions?  Contact me at butchersaprons@mail.com.