it’s a click of the turnstile, a twist of the head / a hundred years till the end of the bed
it’s a conference of dreamers, a rolex, a ranch / a barrel of monkeys hung from a branch / it’s an empty ward, a vision in scrubs / a snoring senator asleep in the tub

Mr Trump stood on the stump
smile as wide as a gator
took some honey and plenty of money
and was smiling four years later

it’s a dummy diversion, a faker, a squad / a stockpile of bibles, a run on God / it’s the weight of a shadow, the slip of a dream / it’s a rat with a flashlight, the cat with the cream / it’s the luck of the loser, a criminal crouch / it’s the xerox you kept in a ziplocked pouch

Mr Johnson went to Wisconsin
selling his curds and whey
the farmers were charming but prices alarming
and so he bid them good day

it’s a baby in a baby gro, the lady in the lake / it’s a cemetery crow with a cemetery snake / it’s a victim of circumstance, a patsy, a pal / it’s a plastic bag in the old canal / it’s a pixie in a poncho, a garbage patch / a sub on the seabed with an open hatch / a flickering light, a bloated crew / gathering round for the evening news

Mr Jinping started limping
as soon as he tried to run
he ordered his generals to massage his glutials
then shot them with his gun

it’s a frequent crier, a fearsome toad / who sits himself down in the middle of the road / and licks his eyes and clears his throat / and starts his song with a terrible note / that shakes your windows and rattles your walls

with a song that you hope means nothing at all
no, not a thing
not a thing at all

howl howl howl
the old man said
as he carried his favourite
back to bed

and the weeds grew strong
and the hour grew late
and all we could do was

wait
wait
wait