I’ll spend two dozen hours with nothing good to say.

I’ll start with his constant attack on our endangered species,

and segue to his lying mouth, which, open, smells like feces.

Next I’ll mention how he mocked a disabled reporter,

how, when he reads his speeches, he turns into a rip snorter,

how he spouts obscene to rally his illiterati,

walks the mobster walk in imitation of John Gotti,

lies so much there’s danger truth might become obsolete,

balances his shifty bulk with tiny hands and feet.

I’ll mock the evil orange one from midnight until dawn.

I’ll take time out for coffee, and then continue on.

There’s no dearth of nasty things to say about this man.

Grab a soapbox, jump right in, protest him while you can.

Next year, President’s Day might be met with utter silence.

Might well be his criticizers will be met with violence,

swept involuntarily to compounds with high walls.

It all ends with a whimper when democracy falls.