Are your nights mere cloven death?
Does your soul e're draw a breath,
Devoid of greasy residues of greed?
Is there anything you need,
Aside the golden screed...where you lay?
Do you dream?
Donald, do you feel?
Is it pain that drives your mouth,
Ghoulish tirades -- your sabaoth?
Is it fear that prompts your braying?
Is your spindly spine decaying?
Is anything you're saying...touched by love?
Do you feel?
Donald, do you care?
Does Earth revolve about you?
Do you fear that others doubt you?
Is it ownership you crave?
Bricks to build your tawdry grave?
Is it pleasant to enslave...all you see?
Do you care?
Donald, do you cry?
Aught but pain bring tear to eye?
Can the agony of others touch your soul?
Is empathy unknown to you?
Can you see it must be true,
That others besides you...might feel pain?
Do you cry?
Donald...do you dream?
Mick McKellar
May 2018
Every night I pray / That on the next day / A mask will fall away / And a President will emerge. / I wait so patiently, / But I look up and see / Porky Pig grinning at me, / Who says: “That’s all folks…”
Mick
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