Trump Plague Fantasia
1
Enter a tall man, pharaoh-onic, a figure of old
Wearing a glittering royal headdress
And surgical mask woven of gold
Don’t be alarmed, he says, don’t stress
All will be explained sooner or later
I am Donald Trump, your leader
Welcome to our Passover seder
2
Cruise liners with plague patients and nowhere to go
Set their course for Mar-a-Lago
Captains anchor offshore, put it to the owner to decide
Who shall live and who shall die
Trump says, You shall not enter
Are you mad! In my ball rooms a recovery center?
Yet when the cameras begin to descend
Including his enemies led by CNN
And the patients unrestrained by their disease
Climb to the decks and make their pleas
Directly to the lord of the manse
To, please God, alter your stance
Now with every camera on his lair
Every eye admiring his hair
The president surprises us
Maybe he is a genius
He’s found a way to relieve the distress
My answer, folks, is Yes, yes, yes!
He takes a position on the highest verandah
And with outstretched torch in his hand
Declares, Send me your tired, your weary, your Covid-19
Your heart attacks, your dyspeptics, all patients in between
I’m your president, let me wipe away your tears
And not only that, I’m happy to volunteer
To clean the bathrooms, with or without protection
In this manner I will win the November election.