Bitter and ironic sonnet
in which Trump is infected with the
And if the antichrist at his last gasp
lay hooked to oxygen in isolation,
is hope in order? And is aspiration
for quietness and a firmer U.S. grasp
of virtue fitting? And perverse delight?
Is that for once a thing worth reinstating?
Is hate for someone who knows only hating
an act of love, a cause that’s good and right?
It is both bitter as it is ironic
that he who recommended jabs of bleach
should end up getting preferential care,
while that same care because of his iconic
Obamacare attacks placed out of reach
vain hopes of those whose lives hung by a hair.