Now we have two poets.

Fred Smith, testing expert, no longer associated with the New York City Board of Education, sent the following rumination about our national Yertle the Turtle.

The Faking of the President 2016

I sit with my pen signing off on my themes,
Watch the world shake its head at my speed and extremes;
What some said wouldn’t happen, this mad man’s sick dreams,
Now they see me deliver on my wildest schemes.

No I am not Horton, not a Horton, not I,
Not waiting for some Dumbo-bird to hatch and fly.
I’m really King Yertle stacking up to the sky
On the backs of the losers; I love their pained cry.

How I got to the White House I’ll never admit,
Took a Super Storm Sanders when all forces hit.
15 less known opponents caused the voters to split.
That gave me the edge; and I never spit the bit.

I learned what Bernie knew—the public was tired
Of more of the same. They wanted everyone Fired!
So, I blasted my foes and no scruples conspired
To keep me from snatching the prize I desired.

I told everyone I’d make “America Great.”
It became an inferno in every red state.
“Great Again!” at each rally and endless debate,
And I welcomed support from the legions of hate.

I swore without doubt there’d be no more one-way tide,
Bleeding jobs and big business to countries outside,
Nor agreements with nations we gave a free ride.
“America First!” and “Best!” my faithful throngs cried.

I loved to hear “Lock her up!” and “Put her in jail!”
While Hillary thought her campaign couldn’t fail.
So, if someone hacked into her private email.
It was the final bump on her 30-year trail.

I’m really really going to bury ISIS;
Who knows how and when and whatever the price is.
I’ll end the terror and each damn Arab crisis,
Keeping our homeland safe is one of my vices.

Which ties into how I used the fear of xenos:
Criminal Muslims and assorted Latinos;
Walls to block Mexicans. Who’s next, Filipinos?
Can’t deport Mohegans, but can seize their casinos.

My loose cannon Bannon would exile Obama,
Revoke his papers, pack him off to Uganda,
Insult Pope Francis and slam the Dalai Lama,
Raise the confederate flag o’er Alabama.

When I won, the aim was to keep all heads spinning,
Set a course of confusion from the beginning.
Getting sworn in last month was just the first inning.
The more pundits grieved, the more I was grinning.

Sean Spicer led off to put the press in its place.
Oh, what glee when they grimaced—red meat for my base;
Such joy when they were flustered by Conway’s cute face.
‘Twas their circus clown coverage that gave me the race.

The networks all buzzed when I made some bizarre claim
‘Bout crowd size, vote counts or another numbers game.
And false stories were planted, now ain’t that a shame
To watch newsmen drawn to them like moths to a flame?!

I expect more fake news to be CNN’d next
Of a threatening email I sent to my ex-,
Or my love note to Putin they found in a text,
Or of some shaky selfies of us having sex.

While the media gasped, I was doing my will,
And republicans bowed down to give me my fill
To build a bold cabinet on Capitol Hill.
The Donkeys couldn’t block them—That was a big thrill.

I tossed each secretary into a blender,
Added my alt-right advisors, set the agenda.
Keeping us straight and safe from every transgender,
Together we’ll be this land’s greatest defender.

I said I’d get rid of the DC Beltway hacks.
Then I brought in billionaires who paid little tax,
And a handful of financiers from Goldman Sachs,
And foreclosure experts who broke homeowner’s backs.

Still, I signed up a number of politicians
To do many things that defy intuition,
Heading agencies with no sense of their missions,
Like the EPA guy’s earth-threat’ning positions.

Like my AG who openly preached bigotry,
And my chief of State untrained in diplomacy;
Like my unschooled, private-school Ed. Secretary;
Knowledge and experience not necessary.

Except for my heroes with medals on their chest,
The brave-hearted men who’ve passed every battle test;
They’re not just tin soldiers, rattling sabers, at best.
With the likes of a Mad Dog, they will save the West.

My team will discourage too much immigration
While our housing and schools eschew integration.
And we enjoy the fruits of deregulation;
A rich man’s Eden, it’s my administration.

The folks I’ve tapped will concoct a hot steaming mix,
Serving special interests—denying all conflicts;
Easing gun laws, cutting health care, how’s that for kicks.
They know proofs of climate change are just science tricks.

We’ll weaken the unions, put hard caps on wages,
Scale back on OSHA, harming workers in stages,
Torture our enemies, grilled in tiger cages;
Our first cycle will be one for the ages.

If we scare a few Semites, which I’m wont to do,
‘Vanka in her shoes married a very rich Jew.
It’s time to give back to white males all they are due.
Read between my tweet lines; Mar-a-Lago to you.

With Wayne Barrett gone now, wow, how lucky am I;
One tough reporter, I couldn’t scare him or buy.
He dogged me for forty years, knew my every lie
Finally, there’s a chance that his true facts will die.

And my latest spread of the Twitter infection
Blamed O for spying and creates misdirection.
So, we forget about Jeff Beauregard Sessions,
And keep from discussing the Russian Connection.

To wit, I just I leaked something about my taxes
To draw attention from the Soviet Axis.
To follow are copies of pharmacy faxes,
Showing the altered way Melania relaxes.

Now as I control fifty-one legislators,
Soon to become the High Court’s Grand Dominator.
From bankruptcy to an unchained orchestrator,
I rule: The Supreme Universal Dictator!

I will give new meaning to the words “The New Deal,”
Now that I, the deal master, have taken the wheel.
I’ll turn the United States into U. S. Steal.
Eagle-clutched dollars will be this president’s seal.

America is Great, and with me in the lead,
I’ll show my father I have exceeded his creed:
The strong and relentless will find ways to succeed;
A lifetime of greed is truly all that you need.

But sure as the tortoise keeps losing to the hare,
One slow poke stood up. His name was Obamacare.
He left the hare in the dust and gasping for air.
Morale: You don’t have to be swift to win your share.

Soon Yertle saw his tower crash down with a thud,
Land back in the swamp, his throne encrusted in crud
When who made him their highness can give no more blood,
He found himself overthrown, face down in the mud.