Little Weiner-Fingers

©2021, Olan L. Smith

I am tired, too tired for a writer on this globe,

Where nothing mattered but the golden robe.

A sudden thump! courses into years of discord, where kings crawl

On bended knee, and queens voices are lost in the squall.

Thumpidy on his way to a plunge. Whose objection

Dares the orange faced one, a broken headed abjection

Unaware of others. We created this nation's jackknife,

He merely wiener-fingered his tiny brain to find a negative life.

He was more than willing to piss it all away, did you meet our ex-POTUS,

Another republican flushed away, prayers for the new POTUS.