day SEVEN HUNDRED and SIXTY THREE

dear donald,

i woke up the other day

wondering what it was like

to wake up and be you

to be the most hated man in the world

let me clarify though…i didn’t wake up thinking this

after seven hundred and some days

i try to give you as little head space as possible

i think i thought this maybe after my third double vodka

i was bored and went on twitter

and read a bunch of your stupid tweets

as if i were reading the lost works of basho

and with every mendacious word it got me wondering

what is it like to be you?

isolated in the white house

nothing but cold hamburgers and fox news to keep you company

millions of people hating the very sight of you

having to lie about the numbers who don’t

having to lie about your poll numbers and dick size

always the biggest idiot in the room

can’t trust anyone, not even your little traitor-tot sons

knowing that your administration has more leaks

that some of your shitty real estate

what does that feel like donald?

to be the scourge of the world

to have your name brought up with hitler in casual conversation

or that there will be oscar-party sized celebrations

when you’re finally carted off to jail?

i know i’ll be dancing in the streets

what does it feel like to stand in front of that morning mirror?

your bloated belly and orange hue looking back at you

your wife’s hateful eyes glaring back

the way she must freeze when you try and touch her

putin breathing down your neck

selling out your country to pay a life debt

having to pay off celebrity hacks to join you in golf

making up national emergencies to save face

all those years of being the kingpin of your own delusions… gone

all that free pussy you’d never get without that name…gone

knowing that you’ll never again have a moment of peace

for what?

to play plastic dictator?

to throw a tantrum on the world stage?

was it all worth it?

donald…it doesn’t even look like you like the job.        

--John Grochalski