At least that’s what he tells me and he won’t return my fee.

He said the courses were on line, kept somewhere on his Twitter.

He blamed me when I could not find and for that I am bitter.

He claims I have advanced degrees in cheating and deception,

that somewhere in the next four years there’ll be a great reception.

He doesn’t give out sheepskins because they’re too hard to eat.

Diplomas come on chicken skin, all crisp, and some have meat.

When asked about a cap and gown, he said no need for that.

Official Trump school uniform is long red tie and hat.

I’m called MAGA cum laude, have my own fraternity.

He charged me for induction after telling me it’s free.

I’m going to find the campus and protest his phony biz.

But I have looked all over and he won’t say where it is.

Calm down, he said, this will look quite good on your resume.

But every interviewer laughs and sends me straight away.

I even caught flack hanging my diploma on the wall.

“That thing just smells, my mother yells”, “Please put it in the hall.”

I’m disappointed there will be no meetings with alums.

As scams go, this one takes the cake and doesn’t leave no crumbs.

is set to cast first vote.

The process, which they seldom botch,

is let five bottles float.

With picks inside, they ride the tide

along New Hampshire’s shore.

‘Til someone finds them, brings inside,

and then we know the score.

It may be days or even weeks

before they wash back in.

And every eager candidate

seeks those five votes to win.

The tiny town retains its crown

way up there in the sticks.

While bigger cities tear them down

as just a bunch of hicks.

But Dixville Notchers won’t be cowed

by them there city slicks.

They savor every vote allowed.

Some day there might be six.

right would see a lot more non-white faces.

Left would have to hold those MAGA signs,

right be pepper sprayed in protest lines.

Left would say the cops have got our backs.

Right would say they only arrest blacks.

Left would say they’ll give up guns when dead,

right urge they use smaller ones instead.

What we need perhaps is a new middle,

folks sick of the emperor’s gold fiddle,

who back equal pay and education,

health insurance and a kinder nation.

As things are the two sides will keep bashing,

a highway with no lines where cars keep crashing.

A party based upon our common ground

might quell the furor, keep the earth around.

making sure the backstabbing will not happen again.

Oh sure, he says, they stabbed me, even though it was the truth;

they soiled my name, my fame, my game. It was all quite uncouth.

The list of ‘those to go’ is even longer than his arm.

And those outside the premises will also suffer harm.

Sondland and the Vindman boys have already been purged

and Mitt will doubtless suffer hits the man openly urged.

Anyone who raised their voice against his innocence

will be forced to sit, enclosed, three hours with Mike Pence.

And those who might flap their loose lips against him in the future

might undergo a White House process known as close-mouth suture.

a snarling racist bigot, what’s the odds.

He calls girls sluts and bitches, a.m. radio in stitches.

He likes the women’s movement for their bods.

He skirts around the N word for his fans.

His thoughts are merely fodder for shit cans.

He’s lowered every bar on radio so far.

He loves the whites, but not so much the tans.

He doesn’t really talk, more like a yell,

a snake oil huckster with nothing to sell.

His foot is on the treadle, conspiracy to peddle.

Some hope he’ll have the drive time spot in hell.