To the Little Man
Trump's a billionaire crapping in a gold toilet bowl
in a tower named after him high up in New York.
He only wears hard hats for cameras at rallies,
and the last tool he held was his own tiny penis.
His rich father kept him from military service
while your dad was getting his arse shot to ribbons.
He beats bunker sand in his Florida golf course
while you're lugging boxes or fixing a car.
He pays money to porn stars he's fucked, then denies it;
and you’re on your porch in the afternoon drinking,
watching a scabby dog nosing your garbage.
Do you think, do you honestly think, little man,
he would care if your whole family fell off a cliff?