Dear dear Melania,
You came to us as Slovene.
Your anchor hubby has a mania
By which he daily vents his spleen.
Oh dear me, Donald J. T.,
Your mummy's Scottish, your papa's German,
Yet you say "What have you to lose?"
To native folks you treat like vermin.
Yet from these lands they long have hailed,
Many generations shackled and sold,
While you only recently
To our shores have sailed?
Muslims and Mexicans, migrants and mosques,
Catholics, Congregationalists, Quakers and queers:
Oh my, Mr. Trump, you're so damn weird.
Of what exactly must we be afeared?
So Donald, when you talk about your penis,
Please do not wave your hands between us.
Joe Twichell
(with apologies to my cousin, who is a real poet)