Has Donald been caught with his pants on the floor,
For his self-immersion in pedophile lore?
Poor Speaker Mike Johnson fears holding a vote
And watches Trump flailing while his rivals gloat.

Who had to experience Trump’s private parts,
At Jeff Epstein’s center for performing arts?
If tactile or visual, what a nightmare.
A rich man’s side diddle, Trump hopes we won’t care.

When Donald Trump conjured Obama’s arrest,
Such visions show us how much Donald is stressed.
An AI imagined, Trump Truth Social post.
He’s frightened, and haunted by Jeff Epstein’s ghost.

Poor Donald has smitten himself, hip and thigh,
“Obama, Obama!” We all hear him cry.
Remembering teenagers as his playthings—
He thinks,” What I did is the right of all kings.”

“Will no one help rid me of this memory?
“Why won’t you all concentrate on Hillary?
“Or Obama, as well, who ought to be jailed?
“Fake news! Hoax! Witch hunt! Every day I’m assailed”

Fresh, young, teen age girls were whom Epstein supplied.
Was Trump, as they say, just along for the ride?
The source of Jeff’s ladies, all were well-aware.
Don’t Epstein and Donald make a handsome pair?

Will Donald be covered by his own “Deep State,”
Will his Trumpist loyalists protect his fate?
The law firm of Bondi, Blanche, Bove, will try
To obfuscate facts and thereby, save their guy.

Does Rushmore have space left for Donald Trump’s schlong?
Will we celebrate it in poems and song?
A sculpture to serve as the Trump legacy—
A stone monument to the Trump fallacy.