With the virus raging anew, with America now the statistical sinkhole of the western world, with dozens of Secret Service people being forced into quarantine, with 125,000 dead and worse to come, we’re clearly starved for national leadership. But at least we have a president who’s gifted at crafting free-verse poetry!
Nobody does poetry better than him. Nobody in human history – nobody has ever seen anything like it, it’s so incredible – has ever before combined the traditional Haiku with the idiosyncratic whimsy of e e cummings.
For instance, he gave a poetry reading earlier this week inside a mask-free Arizona megachurch (seriously, this is verbatim from the rally). Behold America’s Bard, as he flexes his leadership in this unparalleled time of crisis:
Right next to San Diego
is a wonderful town
in Mexico.
You know the town;
I won’t mention the name.
But they’re heavily infected with
COVID.
Do you ever notice,
I said the other night,
did anybody see my speech
the other night
on Saturday night?
But I said the other night,
“There’s never been
anything
where they have so many
names.”
I could give you 19 or 20 names
for that,
right?
It’s got all different names.
“Wuhan.”
“Wuhan” was catching on.
“Coronavirus,” right?
“Kung-flu,” yeah.
“Kung-flu.”
“COVID.”
“COVID-19.”
“COVID.”
I said, “what’s the ’19’?”
“COVID-19.”
Some people can’t explain
what the “19” –
give me the –
“COVID-19.”
I said, “That’s an odd
name.”
I could give you
many, many names.
Some people call it the
“Chinese flu.”
The “China flu.”
Right?
They call it the “China,”
as opposed to “Chi-“,
the “China.”
I’ve never seen anything like it.
Such artistry like nobody has ever seen! But perhaps e e cummings sums him up best:
the little
lame balloonman
whistles far and wee
Thank you for publishing Trump’s poem. I found it very moving and read it out loud (I must say with some theatrical artistry) to my two dogs. One of them left the room before I got to the halfway point. I assume he was so touched that he needed some alone time. The other listened to the entire poem then ran out the door to the community dog shelter and applied for asylum. I don’t know what he told them, but they won’t give him back.