I’m posting this poem in honor of the upcoming Republican primaries. I actually wrote this poem years ago when Trump came to Toledo for a campaign stop. My experience there adds a layer to this poem. The attendees of the rally were overwhelmingly white. In fact, excluding some of the protesters, there were more blacks as vendors selling Trump paraphernalia than black rally attendees. I found this an odd and somewhat disturbing juxtapositioning. I spoke with several of the black vendors and they said that they didn’t care for Trump but it was a chance to make some bucks. Perhaps fleecing Trump supporters by selling them overpriced campaign paraphernalia was as poetic justice as could be mustered that day, in some eerily American way.
Trump Blows (into town)
The end of the line
Is just
A block ahead
Beyond the pale
Making a hockey game
Look
Like an NAACP convention
Yet darker
Folks selling crap
They don’t believe in
The mob buys it
Money saved
From there hallowed ticket
The price of free
Dumb
Allegedly worth twice that
And all the wile
The prize of admission
We the people
Can’t afford
