Lithgow - Dumpty the age of Trump in verse

Copyright 2019 by John Lithgow. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available. ISBN 978-1-4521-8275-9 (hc)
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chronicleprism.com I know words. I have the best words. But theres no better word than stupid. Right? DUMPTY, DECEMBER 30, 2015

I always knew Id be preaching to the choir. Slap the title DUMPTY on a book of political humor and your bias is glaringly obvious.

From the beginning I have intended these verses for people who oppose our current president, hoping to briefly yank them out of their chronic depression at his persistent grip on executive power. But Im a professional actor as well as an amateur satirist. When I act, I never restrict myself to preaching to the choir. I want to please everybody. I try to make audiences laugh, cry, or scream and to occasionally make them think. Im an equal opportunity entertainer: if Im onstage and youre out front, Im your man.

Alas, with political humor, pleasing everybody is impossible. Show your bias and youre guaranteed to piss off half the crowd. So as an introduction to my first book of political satire, let me briefly turn away from the choir and address myself to all you Friends of Dumpty out there. You FODs may have already judged my book by its cover and refused to even open it, but if youre reading these words, read on: Im talking to you. My dear fellow citizens, Though I myself cant fathom it, I acknowledge your sincere devotion to Dumpty, that strange, splenetic man. I see you on TV, laughing, cheering, and chanting at his rallies.

You stand in line beforehand for hours on end, primed for the time of your lives. In your eyes, Dumptys bullying is courage, his bigotry is patriotism, his vulgarity is authenticity, his cruelty is unbridled fun. Your support for him springs from sheer infatuation, and like most infatuations, its incomprehensible to everyone else. Its certainly incomprehensible to me. But let me ask you a few questions, and promise that youll answer truthfully: Given that Dumpty is such a crude, paranoid, petulant, cowardly, vicious liar, con man, and crook, would you want to work in an office where he was in charge? Would you want to join his downtrodden White House staff or the weird cast of characters in his cabinet? Would you want him to invest your life savings for you? Would you want to sit next to him at a dinner party, picnic, or sporting event? Would you want to carpool or (God forbid!) drive cross-country with him? Would you hire him to babysit your toddler or fix him up with your best friends daughter? Would you ask him to speak at your own memorial service? If you answer no to all of these questions (and how could you not?) then why in the world would you entrust your countrys future and the future of this fragile planet to him? Pause for a moment and contemplate your own contradictory leanings. Crazy, right? Now.

Hopefully Ive jostled your state of mind just enough for you to take a peek at my poems. Dont worry: if you honestly think that my politics stink and I flout your redoubtable strictures, then kick off your shoes, mix your favorite drink, screw the words, and just look at the pictures. JL, June 9, 2019

Trumpty Dumpty wanted a wall To stir up a rabid political brawl. His Republican rivals, both feckless and stodgy, Succumbed in the end to his rank demagogy. Dumptys wall made no earthly sense, A boondoggle built at enormous expense. But he promised, in speeches despotic and shrill, Hed make certain that Mexico footed the bill.

Trumpty Dumpty kept insisting. More and more citizens started resisting. Sadly, there wont be an end to this tale, At least until reasonable people prevail. In January 2017, DONALD J. TRUMPbecame the 45th president of the United States.

In his oval-shaped snuggery, Dumpty reclined On a break from Fake News and sharp censure.

He had waited all day for a chance to unwind By recalling his flashiest venture: An evening in Russia, 2013, That hed scarcely dared even imagine. Each nation had chosen its own beauty queen For his Moscow Miss Universe Pageant. Dumptys grandest pet project had come to fruition, His gaudiest spectacle yet. And those hookers displaying their bold micturition, Was something hed never forget. Ive got it! cried Dumpty while bolting upright. A reprise of my old avocation! A Presidents Pageant held right here on site! And the East Rooms the perfect location! Miss Universe? No! Not this time around.

Im done with Macron, May, and Merkel. America First! One of ours will be crowned! And perhaps from my own inner circle. For starters, Ivankas superior air Cant obscure her demure sensuality. And Tiffany, too (though she hasnt a prayer), Is a lock for Miss Congeniality. Picture Hicks in the spotlight! A radiant vision! That body, that hair, and those eyes. And Hope would mop up in the Talent Division With her skill at inventing white lies.

Louise Linton, Mnuchins voluptuous bride, Would love to compete with this set. Shed appear like an empress, with Steve at her side, Flown in on a Treasury jet. Omarosas a looker whod light up the stage With diversity, danger, and sass. She would hopefully deal with her issues of rage Once weve reactivated her pass. By rights, Kirstjen Nielsen should join the parade. Shes blonde, statuesque, and beguiling.

But the toll of the cold-blooded role she has played Tends to prevent her from smiling. Kellyanne comes to mind as another suggestion, Though not in the interview portions, For shed bulldoze her judge in the midst of a question, With alternative facts and distortions. Two contestants at last would stride onto the green To a fanfare performed on a bugle. Their fame is gigantic (though not squeaky clean): Stormy Daniels and Karen McDougal. One would certainly win, one would take second place, With the others all clustering around them. But in spite of her usual coolness and grace, The first ladys unlikely to crown them.

Dumpty savored this fantasy, sighing out loud As the fire flickered out in the grate. The dazzling beauties and sparkling crowd Had eclipsed all the burdens of state. He banished all thoughts of the Washington scene, Of his poll numbers rapidly falling. Of Manafort, Cohen, of Rod Rosenstein, Of the deafening roar of the Mueller machine. In producing a pageant and picking a queen, He had finally found his true calling.

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