Why does the leftist agonize and fret?
Why is his judgment gone to regions far
As any unseen trans-galactic star?
Why are the facts evading every net
He casts aloft, determined still to get
Some startling evidence? Lad: no cigar!
Though it’s a lush green course, you’re over par
By quite a bit. Yet still you don’t regret
The turn you took, the path you chose and trod,
The many times you’ve smooched the Devil’s rump
While cursing first your natal church, then God.
The blow-up doll that you embrace and hump—
Why, even she’s decided that you’re odd!
It’s not your fault, of course. Hey, let’s blame Trump!