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alt tear knitted title – 
how I i.e. Cinder Fella spent 
   thee better part of January 4th 2018

hey yo' Donald, one suggestion 
   to make America great again, 
   would be to groupthink, draft,
   and assign a domestic accord,

where the man of the house (or bachelor) 
   spends hours applying elbow grease 
   to scrub vigorously any stubborn stain 
   using a handy dandy blues clues wash board,

and during faux pas, sans station identification 
   give this John Doe (while taking – 
   while he and ye take a knee),
   applauding, displaying how much he iz adored

thence demanding, 
   (while he gets handed a mop and pail), 
   plus hire spongebob square pants 
   if Yukon afford
(the competitive fee he requires), 

   or roughly equivalent payment, where gourd
(takes the place of precious metal 
   as legal viz edible tender)
traced back to fore fathers and their horde

of wives, whose reverence idolized 
   via husbands infatuation 
   (and secret crush) toward  
   singer songwriter Lourde

dez, who at a young age scored
major deals 
   with prominent recording studios, and toured
across the webbed, wide world 
   receiving many an a ward 
which Australian “Queen Bee” 

   put pep in the step
of house broken good fellas forced 
   to grovel for Arthur Treacher's fish and chips prithee
re:
garding being an outstanding kitchen helper 
   buffer hitting the sack (of potatoes)
   on the menu for every Fry day cooking spree.

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