A crazy thing happened November the eighth
That boggled my senses and battered my faith
In the goodness of people, the size of our brains,
To vote for a con man who rants and complains
That the reason your life isn’t all it should be
Is because of some Syrian war refugee.
Who knew that the best way to win an election
Was wage a campaign filled with hate and rejection?
His words were as racist as racism gets,
There were times I could swear he contracted Tourette’s.
When NASCAR decides to remove you from branding
It’s likely your rhetoric’s less than outstanding.
Reality shows fanned the flames of his fame,
So he ventured to run on the strength of his name
Which he values at right around three-point-three billion
(Though Bloomberg would price it at thirty-five million).
Whatever it’s worth I’d prefer not to use it
Because if I did I’d most likely abuse it
And as we all know, if he sees it he sues it.
He promised that he’d make America great again.
“You’ll all feel such pride when your egos inflate again,”
As if we were suffering from low self-esteem.
He stepped to the mic and said, “I have a dream!
And this dream that I have is to build a Great Wall
That’s a thousand miles wide and a hundred feet tall
And the Mexican people will pay for it all.”
The first to confront him was fair Megyn Kelly,
Who quoted his slurs but like old Machiavelli
He went for the jugular, speaking of blood,
And begged us to join him down there in the mud
Where his outrageous comments made headlines each day,
And as much as we knew we should all look away
We’d come back once again just to hear what he’d say.
He was media gold; his face was so prevalent,
Sporting a smirk so completely malevolent,
Any opponent who’d dare be benevolent
Soon sunk as low as their lowest low level went.
Of the dozen or so who threw hats in the ring
There were none hurling insults with similar sting.
The name-calling started and taunts quickly spread
First to poor Little Marco and then Lyin’ Ted.
Jeb Bush was low energy, Carly too plain,
Chris Christie surrendered and boarded the train.
A new low was reached when the man contemplated
If Ben Carson’s type should be killed or castrated.
Everything out of his mouth was so wacky
That Huckabee, Jindal, Santorum, Pataki,
John Kasich, Jim Gilmore, and even Rand Paul
Just withered and shrunk from this Neanderthal
As if none could believe that his venom and gall
Had become the accepted debate protocol.
People opined that he’s not presidential,
A characteristic quite inconsequential
To voters in places like South Carolina,
Who agonize that the Republic of China
Has taken our jobs; a practice promoted for
Billionaires just like the one they just voted for.
His delegate count grew to scary proportions
Endorsing a ban on the right to abortions,
And vowing to arm all the teachers in schools
Right after defunding alternative fuels
And putting a stop to this climate change hoax,
But first reassuring those not funny folks
Making “small hands” the stuff of their sick Twitter jokes,
He was packing zucchini and two artichokes.
In May, when his win was considered presumptive
The democrats cheered, “Their whole party’s defunct if
They think this buffoon stands a miniscule chance
Of persuading the country with that song and dance!”
But something transpired the left couldn’t see
As they watched through the lens of MSNBC.
Though most of his backers preferred to stay silent
He warned that a loss might just turn them all violent,
And then we’d be dealing with riotous mobs
Who are better prepared than you know-it-all snobs
(Who can tolerate Muslims who wear those hijabs)
To engage in a fight when the spit hits the fan
And it’s time to enact your survivalist plan.
When conventions were over and tickets were chosen
(Scott Baio’s career path was briefly unfrozen)
Republican leaders withheld their endorsements.
Paul Ryan admonished, “Don’t back the wrong horse, gents.
We’ll wait ’til he begs us to send reinforcements.
You won’t see me jump like that sucker Mike Pence.
As for now, I’m quite comfortable perched on this fence.”
And now it was time to start mudslinging Hillary.
“I don’t like her look and her voice is too shrillery.
She may have support in the ‘hood and the barrio
But middle-aged women think Bill’s a lothario.
We’ll shout like a squadron of crazed kamikaze,
‘Benghazi, Benghazi, Benghazi, Benghazi!'”
He stood with the troops and said, “I’ve got your sixes.
This ISIS has never seen my bag of trickses.
The thing I can tell you about politics is
If Hillary wins, that’s when ISIS relaxes.
You put me in charge and they’ll all watch their backses.
I support you completely (just not with my taxes).”
When asked who’d advise him on matters of policy
His answers did not quite engender the solace we
Hoped we might find as we sought some relief
From the thought of this guy as Commander-in-Chief.
He said he was born with a really good brain,
So relying on instincts he’d soon ascertain
The most perfect solutions then toast with champagne.
And then came the bromance with Vladimir Putin
Whose mind he admires like Sir Isaac Newton.
He claimed they’d have meetings he’d be resolute in
And probably wear a nice Calvin Klein suit in
Surrounded by bowls to put lots of fresh fruit in
(Putin stays fit by abstaining from gluten).
But then it was finally time to display
If this blowhard had something substantial to say.
Fox News was the host of the first big debate
And before the whole nation this junior lightweight
Was invited to offer some semblance of proof
His campaign wasn’t all some elaborate spoof
That would end with him flipping the bird for a goof.
While he may be hard pressed to find Uzbekistan
And refused to renounce the support of the Klan
He proved quite adept at creating distortions
With overly magnified facial contortions.
And though she succeeded in stomping his gojis
He did invent seventeen brand new emojis.
By the final debate he’d become such a mocker
She couldn’t cross stage without having him stalk her.
The discourse they shared was a far cry from elegant,
Worse than the script of a telenovela went.
Hillary’s barbs were just passive aggressive,
Provoking retorts that were downright regressive.
“I’m rubber, you’re glue,” sounded less than impressive.
They caught him on tape with his “locker room” talk
That would put any candidate’s head on the block,
But I guess it takes more than molesting some women
To change a small mind that two brain cells might swim in.
He said, “They’re just words,” not disgusting debauchery.
Perhaps he enjoys getting grabbed by his crotchery.
When the day finally came for the votes to be counted
It seemed her advantage could not be surmounted.
The pundits for both parties prognosticated
That once all the ballots had been tabulated
This hated, fixated, conflated, X-rated,
And thoroughly, utterly unmitigated
Imposter would NEVER be inaugurated.
But then something happened distinctly unthinkable.
It turned out the Kool-Aid was perfectly drinkable.
We watched as the map got progressively redder
With poor Rachel Maddow appearing half-dead her
Historic night drowning in Wisconsin cheddar.
Even Republicans seemed to be thinking
“Did we just elect him or have I been drinking?”
We woke the next morning still earnestly wondering,
“Did we just witness electoral blundering?”
Perhaps it was all just a terrible dream
And maybe I don’t have to let out a scream,
Or regurgitate using the Heimlich maneuver,
Then ask for a visa to live in Vancouver.
We opened our browsers and then it sunk in.
She really did lose and he really did win.
We could hate it, bewail it, lament it, or curse it,
But nothing on Earth could begin to reverse it.
The only thing left was endeavor somehow
To get up out of bed and consider, “What now?”
As I looked in the mirror I happened to see
A reflection that made me reflect, “Golly gee,
All those people who voted for him look like me!”
I was greatly concerned that I might be mistaken
For dudes who vote right and then toast with some bacon.
And it might just be possible that I deserve it if
I don’t take steps to appear less conservative.
I thought about how I might change my appearance
To hide any trace of the slightest coherence
With crackers who have no intelligence clearance.
Should I think about dying my hair a bright blue?
Or perhaps get a prominent rainbow tattoo?
I wished I could show all the people around me,
Especially those whose opinions confound me,
That I’d never side with the side that just clowned me.
But then I heard President Barack Obama.
For eight years he’s made me so proud of my mama
Who raised me to listen and judge what I hear
By one’s words and convictions and let disappear
The distractions of color and accent and fear
Of a person who doesn’t seem typical here.
And he asked that this man be permitted his chance.
He may be more pomp than he is circumstance
But he won fair and square and if you look askance
When he takes the high office, well, that is your right.
You can say what you want in this country and fight
To defeat him when he reappears in four years;
Fight with your blood and your sweat and your tears,
And if that doesn’t work maybe drink a few beers.
My tolerance, on which I place a high value,
Has forced me to pause and to ask myself, “Shall you
Attempt to relate to the folks who oppose you?
Or will you just stick with the peer group who knows you?”
It’s safer to feel like a highbrow superior
Than heed the critique of our nation’s interior.
I have to admit that I’ve often colluded
With friends whose “enlightenment” kept us secluded
From hicks we deemed thick headed, as perhaps you did,
Dismissing their rancor which therefore precluded
A meeting of minds and so onward we feuded.
I’m guilty. I’m sorry (this poem excluded).
The great Aristotle once philosophized
That the mark of a person who’s self-realized
Is a keenness to ponder, without reservation,
A concept one feels warrants denunciation.
As much as I loathe him, the truth it must be
That if I close my mind I’m no better than he.
My son is just eight but already perceives
The great sadness his parents are feeling and grieves
That we ruined the world by electing this man.
So I try to deliver what comfort I can
And remind him the future is always unsure,
And while things don’t occur as we’d always prefer
We can always be proud we proclaimed, “I’m with her!”
Published with the author’s permission.
Author: @steveamick