by Frank Osen

In a happier time, some astute future chronicler
May look back on the day when the Donald Trump moniker—
Which for some hundred-seventy days had defaced
The poor Kennedy Center—was finally erased,
And then note the event drew a festival crowd
Who were mildly dismayed when a blue-and-white shroud
Was left blocking the site, in a last fit of pique—
But observe how the tyrant’s vindictive-me streak,
Like the rest of his faculties, seemed on the wane.

Since he clearly intended the sheet to remain,
Had the tottering dotard still been on his game,
He’d have slathered that tarp with gold leaf and his name.