I wish I had the lyric wit
Of Ogden Nash or Byron
To write the words of wisdom
That this moment is requirin’
But though I can’t approximate
What’s Nashian or Byrony
I can still to call attention
To the most exquisite irony
A selfish predilection
For opacity and secrecy
Coupled with a staff
That was selected for obseqesy
By trying to conceal her self
Behind a server’s shield
Her questionable judgement
Was, to the world, revealed
The pundits minimized the case
And claimed they were disgusted
But voters, on election day
Pronounced she couldn’t be trusted
A tragedy for some to write
For essayists, a gift
A subject less for Shakespeare
But rather more for Swift
A time of sound and fury
For who loses and who wins
But our revels have not ended
For it’s now the play begins.
(Bonus Poem–I know the way for Donald Trump
to make Barack his pal;
Give him, as a parting gift,
free tee-times at Doral)
