Is he dead yet?

[gfarber]

22. The Bootlicking

In Brussels Trump scribbled a note,
With flair, as if signing a quote.
“Allies owe me their might—
Say it loud, say it right!”
And they bowed, just to keep the boat afloat.

What he craved was not truth, nor a fact,
But applause for the ego he lacked.
If you kneeled and obeyed,
You were handsomely paid—
Though the world stood aghast and ransacked.

He knew not what NATO was for,
Just that “thirty-three billion” meant more.
“Say I made them all pay!”
So they did, for that day—
Just to push the mad show out the door.

He declared what was real with a grin,
Though he’d no clue of how to begin.
Like a wizard of lies,
He’d recast the skies—
And pretend that the facts were his kin.

Before generals, slurring and slow,
He performed with a dubious glow.
No logic or grace,
Just a loud, vacant face—
Yet the audience nodded, “Bravo!”

He made crisis from vapor and smoke,
Sent in men with a gun and a cloak.
No riot, no war—
Just a fascist encore,
While the rule of law started to choke.

It takes guts to be stupid and loud,
To deceive with your head in a cloud.
But with no shame at all,
He would climb, he would brawl—
And somehow still dazzle the crowd.

He's a paradox wrapped in a sneer,
Too dumb to spell “dictator,” yet here.
Not smart, but commanding,
Through tantrums and branding—
A farce that still summoned real fear.

He revealed that our system’s a shell,
That good faith holds it barely as well.
So now others may come,
With the same beating drum—
And no qualms 'bout unleashing pure hell.

He’s proof that the worst can still win,
With a wallet and gold-plated grin.
No wisdom or worth,
Yet he scorched half the earth—
And now others will mimic his sin.