Wrong First Lady
There once were some members in town
Who sent a subpoena around;
They aimed it at Trump,
But, oh what a bump—
Wrong First Lady’s name they had found.
They’d meant to call Melania near,
Whose circles raised many a sneer;
With Jeffrey Epstein’s flight logs,
And shadowy fogs—
Instead they got Clinton to hear.
Up rose Hillary Clinton calm and prim,
Addressing the dais stern and trim:
“I honor oversight,
When it’s fearless and right—
Not partisan theater on whim.”
“You claim that I know of the pair—
Of Epstein and Maxwell’s affair;
Let me be clear:
I’ve nothing to share,
No plane rides, no island, no lair.”
She spoke of the victims’ despair,
Of predators prowling unfair;
A “slap on the wrist”
In 2008 missed
The justice survivors should share.
“You summoned officials galore,
Eight justice chiefs—maybe more;
But few did appear,
No hearings sincere,
Transparency locked behind door.”
When Les Wexner sat for his say,
No Republicans showed up that day;
The files gather dust,
While shielding the “just,”
And truth seems conveniently gray.
She told of her travels afar,
Where trafficking’s wounds leave a scar;
In Asia she’d seen
Girls barely thirteen,
In brothels beneath a dim star.
In Europe, a mother’s lost child,
By networks deceptive and wild;
While leaders looked cold,
And justice was sold,
And cruelty quietly smiled.
Back home she had labored to see
New laws for the trafficked set free;
Her husband signed law—
A landmark she saw—
The Trafficking Victims Protection Act decree.
As Secretary, pressing each land,
With programs in nations so grand;
Reports every year
Made sanctions quite clear,
Demanding a firm, steady hand.
She’d even insisted the U.S.
Be judged by its own stern address;
“No haven,” she’d say,
“For slavery’s sway—
Hold higher our own righteousness.”
But under Trump Administration’s view,
The trafficking office withdrew;
Staff cut to the bone,
Priorities blown—
A chilling communiqué flew.
“A serious panel,” she pressed,
“Would put every stone to the test;
Release every file,
Protect victims the while—
Let sunlight do what is best.”
“It wouldn’t chase me for a show,
While shielding the names that you know;
If truth you demand,
Then oath must command
The president’s answers below.”
“So what’s being held from the light?
Whose secrets are guarded so tight?
Be worthy,” she pled,
“Let justice be led—
Choose statesmanship over the fight.”
© 2026 Glen Farber. All Rights Reserved.