Once upon a time in a foreign land

There was a President with tiny hands.


All of his life he spent compensating;

Rebuttals for a world calculating

His worth by his low digit-ratio,

Instead of counting digits and zeros

In the bank accounts of which he’s so proud.


His reputed wealth, he would argue aloud,

Is a President’s personal yardstick,

(not rumours about the size of his prick).


But, like men since the beginning of time,

who’ve been robbed in the ‘yours vs mine’,

each day is a chance to extend himself.


To compete and to win is, in itself,

the most urgent of all his delusions.


Until life becomes sustained confusion,

phallic towers and a sycophant’s court;

of models married and oligarch’s bought

— to recreate reality as it should have been.


So unfair!

What’s the point of all this bling?

A millionaire’s son deserves more than this!


Reality bites when President’s piss.



Erik Kaisson, 2017

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