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Thursday, 26 July 2018

(Rondeau re)doublé negative

He sits and lies, this dealer, leader, fake:

incompetent but confident as hell.

We reel and feel it is some huge mistake

he’s in this oval room and not a cell.


No sign his faithful minions will rebel:

we ask ourselves just what it’s going to take

to stop them being enthralled by how damned well

he sits and lies, this dealer, leader, fake.


Disloyalty brushed off as a mistake:

misspoken words part-mangled as they fell

from fib-smeared lips, as oily as a snake

(incompetent but confident as hell).


Obsequious to Putin, Kim, he’ll tell

us things are going one way one day, then brake

and straight away, reverse the carousel:

we reel and feel it is some huge mistake.


Preposterous as each prolonged handshake,

more stoat than statesman, salesman who can’t sell

so cheats, and dodges, yet, for heaven’s sake,

he’s in this oval room and not a cell.


The limpest blimpest manchild, likes to yell;

to drown out truth, the orangest snowflake

when it gets through, a rank polluting smell,

and as we dread the great foul swamp he’ll make,

He sits and lies.


© Hebog Tramor


Hebog Tramor is a Professor at a UK University, researching medieval legal history and writing the odd poem.

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