We love BIG BROTHER
(aka Donald Trump)
for he is our mother,
all good and wholly
concerned about us —
what we do,
what we think,
what we eat,
what we drink,
when we undress
what is our sex.
Our needs? Heaping.
He needs us sleeping,
lest we provoke,
anything woke.
Golden, emboldened
to no one beholden,
not even God.
(Who he thinks odd.)
“Loving, forgiving?
How can he make a living?!
Tomcats, combats,
bragging, bombast,
belittling, contending.
MY Happy Ending."
Once BIG BROTHER's
smothered our druthers,
you, me, and others'll
never recover.
Ben, frankly, said,
“...if you can keep it."
We see Don's cards.
Read 'em and weep.
It is NOT great
nor is it swell.
This down-market Gatsby's
condemns us to hell.
