Magic Colors

Magic Colors

 

Does Nate Silver predict a blue wave?
Magic colors, I hope, will not save
Creepy Joe from what’s due.
Away, silver and blue!
If Trump wins, though, I’ll still say: “Close shave!”

 

–Tom Riley

 

Pissworthy Polls

Pissworthy Polls

 
Polls show people irate at the sin
Trump committed, though reason wears thin.
Pollsters preach, in the know.
Polls show Trump has to go—
As they said Mrs. Clinton would win.

 
–Tom Riley

Trump and the Experts

Trump and the Experts

With their expert advice he was done
Long before they had started. What fun!
“You’re a monster!” “A clown!”
“Smooth it out!” “Tone it down!”
Trump ignored them all. That’s how he won.

–Tom Riley

Hillary’s Defeat

Hillary’s Defeat

For her victory all elites longed—
And pursued an attack multi-pronged.
They’re pursuing it still—
With more brashness than skill.
The hard fact remains, though: she got schlonged!

–Tom Riley

Little Marco

Little Marco

Marco Rubio: he was Rick’s guy—
And he should have won, too. Rick will cry
For the rest of his days
Over that. Now Rick plays
For the leftist side, lie after lie.

–Tom Riley

Masterminds

Masterminds

 

Boneheaded fuckups at the FBI
Gave it their all to stop the Trump machine.
“Dirty” and “tricks”? What those words truly mean
The creatures of the swamp grasp well. To lie
Is second nature there where rules apply
Only to little people. Lean and mean
In their own estimation, the obscene
Cronies of Comey knew that had to try.
They breezily misled the FISA court.
Standard surveillance tyranny they hailed
As courage of the Winston Churchill sort.
Against the Russians eagerly they railed.
Trump sped ahead. They cried: “Abort! Abort!”
As in their past endeavors, though, they failed.

 

—Tom Riley

Still Hot on the Trail

Still Hot on the Trail

 

Watch out, folks! Robert Mueller’s closing in!
He’ll prove that Trump colluded, well, with Trump
To cheat poor Mrs. Clinton of her win.
Oh, Mueller means to paddle Donald rump
For that offense! He’s not the Donald’s chump
Because of some impossible election.
No, he’s intent on cleaning up this dump!
(The swamp, of course, exemplifies perfection.)
Master detectives must pursue detection—
And Mueller’s proving he’s the Sherlock Holmes
Of Washington, D.C. In one direction
He moves, past hallowed monuments and domes.
The purpose of his inquiry is clear:
Get the guy we elected out of here!

 

—Tom Riley

Springsteen Defense

The Springsteen Defense

 

 

Oh, sure! If only Springsteen, has-been punk,
Had brought his full force regally to bear—
The concentration of a Shaolin monk,
The wisdom that he’s eager now to share,
The neon sign that says he’ll always care,
The eloquence that makes him Cicero—
Why, then, the bastard Trump would not be there
In office as our apprehensions grow.
Springsteen, you fraud: the Jersey thugs I know
Laugh at the cracked pretensions you project.
A twelve-year-old who snuck into your show
Could kick your skinny ass. Do I detect
Madness in these vain whines that you renew?
Trump whipped the world. He’d make short work of you.

 

 

–Tom Riley

 

 

(Megalomaniacal Springsteen pretends he could have stopped Trump.)

Eye Abuse

Eye Abuse

 

 

Photos of Mrs. Trump you’ve printed nude–
far more than voters in the GOP
needed to see. Unfeeling, crass, and crude,
you went ahead. You heard no earnest plea
for ordinate decorum. And to me
it’s clear that you’re as partisan as Hell.
The Devil is a Democrat, agree
or not. Oh, you can tell it by the smell!
But now, O press, we’re seeking to compel
your sorry souls to opt for what is fair.
In your hearts, let a sense of justice swell!
For evenhandedness begin to care!
Print naked pics of Mrs. Clinton, too!
That’d be fair — but, if you do, we’ll sue.

 

 

–Tom Riley

Hillary-Land

Hillary-Land

 

 

Folks are betting that Clinton will win.
That’s the story. That’s also the spin.
Yes, they have it all planned.
Oh, but Hillary-land
is a land I don’t want to be in!

 

 

–Tom Riley