Vote counters are getting death threats.
Trump people don’t like mathematics.
Besides, their king says he would bet
they’re rapists and drug addicts.
“A boy who dotes on numbers,
like a girl who plays with guns,
just cannot be familiar with
the way this country runs.”
And so his people wait outside,
and most inside are nervous.
“I’ve not seen so many guns
since I was in the service.”
The crownless king plays golf and snarls,
makes claims he is the winner.
He wants to see a recount
before he sits down to dinner.
He’ll pout and whine on every day
that’s left in this dread year.
He’ll replay his balcony scene
in hopes that folks will cheer.
He’ll call on Ted Cruz, Lindsey Graham,
all his best butt lickers.
We will know it’s near the end
when Guilliani flickers.
On January twenty first,
come hell or muddy water.
We’ll see them walk away, bags packed,
two whacked sons and a daughter.
And lastly, sobbing, head down,
shuffling and shoulders slumped,
will exit exiled king, with queen,
to shouts’ “You’ve just been TRUMPED !”