Three-Hundred-Thousand and Counting

300,000 and counting need not have died
if the solipsistic, narcissistic temporary
occupant had not lied.

His heart is mean;
his hands aren’t clean;
he just wants to be seen
and make money in amounts so obscene.

Electoral votes are being counted;
few are astounded
because the will of the people perseveres
and the end of the Occupant’s occupancy nears.

Those watching the counting hear cheers
despite the death threats and ignorant jeers
of those cultists and drinkers of Kool-Aid
whose presence, hopefully, will soon fade

from the scene
and will no longer be seen
along with their leader, the meanest
that has ever been.

Please, head back to the sewer
or under a rock
until there are fewer and fewer
and upon your house a perpetual pock.

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