The Poem
The Dinky Despot’s Gilded Fall

In tight green fatigues, he struts the line,
A David to Goliath, a war-torn shrine.
Pajamas cling, a toddler’s play,
A GI Joe lost in the fray.

Trump’s growl cuts, a savage blast,
“Dinky punk, a pre-teen ass!
Kid-size husky, too small to ride,
Disney’d laugh you off with pride.”

Bumper cars his dwarf parade,
4% cheer this punk’s charade.
NBA’s got more fans than this Kiev fool,
J.D.’s slap stings, yet he drools.

But lo—$20 mil, Vero Beach gleams,
A mansion fat with dictator dreams.
A $48 mil yacht, U.S. cash pissed away,
Sails high while his land decays.

Pumpkin Key, $95 mil throne,
A private isle for a king of bone.
Cokehead of Kiev, nose deep in dust,
Azov’s wolves howl his bloody lust.

No elections dared, a tyrant’s grip,
Belgorod bartered, a NATO slip.
World War dice in his shaky hand,
A juvenile thug on sinking sand.

Trump’s belt snaps, the crowd chants free,
“Spank this dwarf of infamy!”
From fatigues to gold, the mask’s a sham,
A gilded punk, a war-damned scam.

Riches pile while his people bleed,
A pre-teen soul with a titan’s greed.
The cokehead struts, the despot grins,
A pint-sized plague where hell begins. See less
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