Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray Bob Mueller my country to keep.
That he finds lots of evidence, and he finds it promptly,
So we can clean up the White House that Trump’s made so swampy.
Should Russian bots again come for my vote,
I pray Congress has found the antidote,
And not been distracted by cutting taxes,
Helping Paul Ryan grind his perverted axes.
And may Speaker Ryan not be lost in his twisted dream,
Of having his rich friends watch as he picks the poor clean,
Before they read from their Ayn Rand hymnals,
And tug on each others broken and withered genitals.
And if North Korea launches nukes into the air,
I send my west coast friends my love and my care,
And how I wish it didn’t have to come to this,
Because of a stream of POTUS’ tweeted piss.
I pray that children will not be uprooted and thrown,
Off to countries they’ve truly never known,
And that the American Dream isn’t put on a shelf,
By a racist Dixie Keebler Elf.
I hope that all Americans can rest secure,
That someday they won’t have to endure
Hate, intolerance and pain and fear,
And that someday Don Jr. will slip off a pier,
Into a pile of dog shit, hot and juicy,
Live on Fox and Friends with Steve Doocey.
And his daddy will be watching, bright and early,
His hands fidgeting and chubby, his eyes going squirrelly,
As he laughs at the son that he’s so ashamed of,
Having treated him like he was, yelled at and unloved.
I dream that Ivanka and Jared disappear too,
Their smiles hollow and brain-dead, creepy and untrue,
As they wave bye-bye and step onto a ritzy yacht,
And are swiftly pushed out to sea to rot.
But as I drift off to sleep on this night,
I pray social media becomes less of a fight,
And everyone stops shrieking, their faces so red,
So that I don’t have to endure another thread,
About the 2016 primary and who was wronger,
And that the Democrats can just keep working on getting stronger.
I dream of an amazing 2020 candidate,
And the enthusiasm and the hope that they will generate.
I dream of an inspiring new face,
Who can win a grueling presidential race.
I dream of someone who is competent and acts selflessly,
Who is accomplished and smart, and goddamnit, not a celebrity.
I pray we will all soon make amends,
When all this unmaking and chaos ends.
I pray Trump’s greedy pals soon get their due,
And all the Nazis get punched again, too.
I put faith in the 25th amendment,
And that Trump’s handlers finally tire of their sprint,
Trying to outrun shame and disgrace,
And finally throw Old Donny out on his face.
His McDonalds-stuffed mouth starts to foam
As he’s checked into the nearest nursing home.
“But wasn’t I good,” he blurts out in a burst,
“No,” they all say, “you fat hog, you’re the worst.”
And with this last betrayal, Donny finally thinks,
“Have I been wrong? Was I lazy, too often on the links,
Should I apologize and make amends?
Have I been too cruel? Should I finally make some friends?”
Of course he doesn’t do that,
This is fiction, not fact!
Trump will never be good, he never apologize,
He’s too dumb and mixed up, too horny for his own lies
Trump will not give up, never surrender, never quit,
I bet at this moment, he’s plotting fresh bullshit.
So that’s why most of all, on this night I pray,
As my head on the pillow I so anxiously lay,
That you’re all registered to vote and ready to go,
To shove these pretenders out into the cold winter snow,
Because 2018’s gotta be a clean sweep,
So that we can all finally get a good goddamn night’s sleep.
- About the Author
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James Folta is a writer and comedian based in NYC. He has written for The New Yorker, McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, The American Bystander and more. He’s a performer at the UCB Theatre. Read his writing online at www.JamesFolta.com and his shortest writing at @JamesFolta.