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 swamp 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?