by Orel Protopopescu

Pinned a flag to my lapel,
said the words I’d practiced well.
Nothing says I’m here to stay
like the order, Bombs away!

Pinko losers can’t erase
my bedazzling, orange face.
I like stars you can’t eclipse,
winners with hot tits and lips.

Jutting out my upper chin,
I tucked mouth and belly in,
looked that camera in the eye
and said terrorists must die.

Ripped that script up. Who needs plans?
Went to rouse my Ku Klux fans.
I don’t need fake gravity
for those folks to orbit me.

Kelly’s cleaning up my house—
He does Windows, will delouse.
With or without his consent,
I’ll eclipse my government.