Friday, June 2, 2017

The Second Don-ing (with apologies to the shade of W.B. Yeats, as well as to my fellow Americans)



              
               Twisting and turning to alternative facts
               The viewer cannot bear to read Twitter;
           The swap remains un-drained;
               Mere commentary is loosed upon the world,
           The Putin tide is loosed, and everywhere
           Millennial innocence is drowned;
           The 'best' lack all connection, while the worst
           Are full of passionate insecurity.

               Surely some new leak is at hand;
           Surely the Second Don-ing is
 at hand.
               The Second Don-ing!  Hardly are those words out
               When a vast image from Art of the Deal
               Troubles my sight: somewhere in a sand trap
               A shape with growing gut and small hands,
               A gaze blank and moronic as can be,
               Is turning its slow thoughts, while all about it
               Reel law suits by indignant human beings.

               The screen goes blank; but now I know
               That umpteen news cycles
               Were vexed to nightmare by some Russian agents,
               And what orange beast, his hour come round at last,
               Slouches towards Babylon to resign?