That Hair

Those magazine covers,
All over your walls…
Do not matter-- Mr. Trump-
You are greedy corporate master.
We don’t need a one man show-entertainer.

In some other lifetime, perchance--
You were a snake oil salesman.
We have enough self-naris-tic people.
Parading around thinking they are the real.
You believe what you say and that it is the only way…
But not me, I just think you’re a @$$...

But No tea or biscuit I would have with you.
I find your demeanor to be Spoiled Boloney—
I would rather elect Mr. Magoo…
Please-Please, tell me
Enquiring minds want to know
How on this earth could you ever 
Run this country---
When you can Not fix your hair.    
Copyright © fonda anne….mooreofme....mamao
Copyright © | Year Posted 2015

Poem

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