American Poker

The Trump Card has been played and it quacks like a duck. Having been fed the bread held in childish hands, He chomps the welcoming gesture with a meek beakish pluck, While pretending to satisfy his nurturers' demands. From the hands of the gods to the heads of their child, Who's but a group of unwitting sheep, There's dealt a trick of black aces wild, By an imbecile whose power is no longer cheap. Hail to the victor of presidential vice, Whence a nation is split between, Two types of liars who pay a price, Unknowingly for lazy eyes can't see. The bets have been cast, And all but one have now begun to fold, Alas, perhaps this year is this nation's last, Unless we think of what the poker face has told.