Miss me yet? In Trump’s own words

I told you, you would miss me

The minute I was gone

Tough to swallow, hard to see

The extent of Joe’s real con.

First he promised, some believed

His sole aim a power grab,

Many listened quite relieved

For his special brand of drab.

Can’t you see the mess he’s made

All he touches turns to dust,

Yet it’s us his failures paid

As our country turns to rust.

Still he blusters unperturbed,

One bad choice after another,

And if by now you’re not disturbed,

You can join him in the gutter.

But despite all this foul gloom

Months of nothing every day,

Wait for me to see us bloom

I’m the man for which to pray.

Three more years you may well wait

With sad Joe calling the shots,

But this country’s very fate

To make good before it rots.