A Cursing Poem in Rhyming Couplets

Fare thee well, O Donald Trump

It’s completely clear now that many chumps

Reside among us and voted for you

But at least we won’t have four more years of President to rue

And as for fare, and doing it well,

Fare means travel, so please go do that, straight to hell,

And take your only buddy, that Adams family freak

Rude Giulaini, a shoddy lawyer now turned sideshow geek

Who bites the heads off rats and laws

With equal savor, his gnashing jaws

Truly rewrote the realms of fact into fiction without pause.

To completely capture this clown, I confess, I lack the diction

The sight of liquified hair dye, creating so much mental friction;

But I’ll labor on, a few more on the national

Scene, in a country overloaded and listing to starboard with the irrational

And the simply mean: take Kentucky’s worst, Senator McConnell

That chinless bore, I hate to trammel

Our canine friends, but he’s a son of a bitch

A quisling for power, and a dictator’s best snitch

After the prez, there’s nobody in front of Mitch

On the way to the ninth level, Dante’s frozen lake of shit

And while Stevie Bannon probably lacks a soul, he’ll go to the pit,

At least level eight he’ll bowl; as for the Javankas, it’s just a matter of time

Before somebody whispers to Mr. Vance, and drops the dime

Sending the robo-daughter with her pale-horse man

Right on into the federal can

But Jared, I have to give you credit, few  put a greater blight

On common sense than you though, if you are rarely right,

At least you are supremely arrogant–

Prepare to get thee to the fed’s pen, with that clan of extravagant

Skinny-suited bastards who tag along

Where I hope some biker felons bang y’all like a gong.

Whew, getting worked up there with this little rhyme

I need to hurry it up, so many jerks, so little time

Let’s finish up this underworld scene with Melania, a final turn for the screwed:

No, Melania, indeed we really don’t care—about U

Other than to hope that a curse falls upon your frozen face

And a toadstool instead of a nose take its place,

You give a bad name to immigration, you tawdry bore

Who decked out the people’s white mansion into a pad for a whore

Though I must say I don’t want to insult any lady who works for a living

So I withdraw that slur, and just hope that you end up sieving

Garbage cans for your daily bread, after your sugar-dad

Is in jail, instead of playing a ruder King George run Mad.

I’d like to continue with our emperors high-tech if I may,

In first place, it’s Mr. Zuckerberg, (just call me Mark)

To slag this zombot of evil banality I lack sufficient snark

Techno-utopia gave up its last wheeze

As Zuck from all of us the data did squeeze

Whether we’ve sold our souls for a patch of his virtual zoo

To feed our brains on that digital toxic stew

Or trying in vain to bypass all that insanity

Talk about your vampire squid attached to the face of humanity

Facebook’s black magic has turned culture into inanity

Zuck, you’ve transformed algorithms into evil, that’s quite a feat

But for dominating the market you can be beat

By the money-man no longer thick-haired and flabby

Yes I’m talking about the leaner, meaner bad-boy Bezos today

Who stomped faces and killed the book biz on his way

Up the ladder of big shots headed for the stars

Or, assuming we soon finish roasting this planet with our cars,

Old Jeff and his buddies will at least go as far

As eating synthetic dogfood out there on Mars,

But then at least Elon and Amazon’s honcho will have somebody to flex for

Besides the mirror, and their adoring corporate mobs,

These boys really need to compare their grand little knobs

But before we wrap this techno-tour up, let’s get to Twitter

My friends, that virtual toilet paper, may 2021 flush it down the shitter.

My time’s nearly up, there’s lots more to yell at, but too much for me now

Like staying middle-class in the Bay Area, noway, nohow,

Or the loonies posting blather day and night

(Learning who really lives NextDoor can truly give you a fright)

Of course you are wondering why I rant not about Covid and that whole masked-up scene

But shouting at a virus, which is brainless, a zombie of genes

What’s the point?  It’s humans who need to receive some spleen

Nuff’ said, I’m now done with this Pandora’s box

But for one thing that was left when she opened the locks

That is Hope, it is true, and I’ve still got that left

And above all family and friends, without you all I’d be bereft.

So let’s  take a moment to lift  a glass, it is time now to cheer

And send out this sad, battered, mad, sickly, loopy old year

To  let ’21 come on in through that revolving door

With chances that are new and friends that are old

And finally, last of all, I swear,

My final lines the bad to impair

Hoping the new year can  restore what down the river was sold

Converting last year’s dross into pure gold,

            Under a kinder sun,

I raise a hopeful glass to 20-21.