The Death of Donald Trump

Donald Trump died in my dreams.

It wasn’t a spectacular assassination

Like JFK or Abe Lincoln.

My brain wouldn’t grant him the honour.

He settled down in a big plush bed with a golden frame

And didn’t wake up — just faded away with a smile on his face. Sad!

Vice president Pence took over with a solemn speech:

“Ladies and gentlemen…our great president has died.”

A single tear from a grey, soulless eye rolled down his mannequin cheek.

The Muslims were still banned

And the refugees were still abandoned, blown to pieces and drowning in the seas.

The money kept pouring into bombs and guns

And the waters were still poisoned and the children’s schools kept decaying

And the nuclear missiles kept pointing the way to the end of everything.

And the Donald lay in his open coffin

Big and plush with a golden frame

With faded orange skin and a smile on his face.