Where’s Trump?

Is he….

….up in the attic, packed in a trunk?

Oh no, no, no! He is not in a trunk
The trunk in the attic is filled up with junk
He couldn’t squeeze in with all the tweets and decrees
So where oh where could that naughty Trump be?

Where’s Trump?

Is he….

…in the marching band where the drums go thump?

Oh no, no, no! He does not make a thump
Or make a trombone play parrump a bump bump
He doesn’t twirl a baton. He doesn’t toot a flute
So where oh where is the man in the suit?

Where’s Trump?

Is he….

…hiding in a garbage can up in the dump?

Oh no, no, no! He is not in the dump
He does not give the dump the official thumbs up
He’s got friends in high places. He’s got pockets of cash
He has not been tossed with the household trash

Where’s Trump?

Is he….

…top of the White House ready to jump?

Oh no, no, no! He’s not ready to jump
He’s a mean old leader but he’s nobody’s chump

Look! There he is! Under the palm tree fronds!
Teeing off with Supremacists and QAnons!
Naughty old Trump! How like him to wander!
How much more looking will we have to do, I wonder?

so I died and went to Hell

(yeah – I know, right?
the second bad thing that happened that night
after pulmonary embolism and cardiac arrest
and a new paramedic who did her best
but was completely exhausted, running late
leading a team that couldn’t wait
to call it
despite her best efforts to stall it
I mean, sure – it was appalling
me up there on the ceiling, calling
but no-one could see or hear me
obviously
a disembodied jimmy
shimmying, flickering
doing a disembodied breaststroke
while a bunch of ghostly folk
beckoned unto me from the nozzle
of a ghastly, ectoplasmic funnel
the feeder of a numinous, neonatal tunnel
that anyone’ll
tell you leads up to the light

shite

well – okay – alright

that’s it

I’ve died and there’s nothing I can do about it
I’ve been fatally out-manoeuvred
I put my hands up and let myself get hoovered

I have to say it was an exhilarating flight
like a vacuumed penny rattling up to the light
I was pretty excited alright
dreaming of all the heavenly crowds
waiting for me up in the clouds
the eternal benefits I’d be allowed
the syncopated trumpet parts
jamming with the other perps and harps
play dates with angels
endless cheese and wine on waitered tables

but uh-oh
whaddya know
Gabriel said no

I said check your list
I insist
I fundamentally do not believe I’ve been missed
You’re an atheist?
he said
nodding his head
in a saintly but faintly patronising kinda way
like he knew exactly what I was gonna say
before I said it

Yeah, I said, but I don’t regret it / I’ve never believed in a vengeful monotheistic deity / but more in a freely loving kinda spontaneity / I mean – how can someone be like ‘I’m all about the love’ / then get the hump and give you the shove / into a lake of eternal fire / just because you say your love’s not for hire? / that sounds more like blackmail / or a dodgy kinda fan mail /
Love like a shadow flies when substance love pursues;
Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues.

I’m confused
said Gabriel, stroking his beard
don’t blame me, I just work here
them’s the rules – I don’t make ‘em
I only deal with the ones who break ‘em
So…I’m afraid you’re not down for entry
he said, annoyingly gently
humming, flipping through his list
with a casually ethereal flick of the wrist
(he had a few problems as arbiter of the sky
but one of them obviously wasn’t RSI)

No / I’m sorry – down you go / he said

I flipped on my head
and down I sped

turns out – Hell looks exactly like Heaven
even having
the same kinda pearly gates
but from some cheaper, bargain basement affiliate
hanging off their hinges
skulls and shit on the fringes
a scattering of tarot cards and syringes
and instead of Gabriel standing by
Donald Trump as a hatcheck guy
leaning on his counter like a lectern
watching clips of himself on a projector
his mouth in a pout
his wig in flames that could never go out
‘you like cucumbers?’ he asked as he took my hat
‘O-kay’ I said ‘Let me get back to you on that’

who’s house is that?
said the rat
to the crow
I’d love to know!
who lives in a house as white as snow?
it’s whiter than white
so white and so bright
the whole place shines like a star at night
I’d like to see who lives there all right
shall we go tonight?
shall make our visit?
shall we go?
shall we go?
and see who’s in it?

oh no said the crow
oh no no no
I will NOT go
I do NOT want to know
It’s a bad idea to make this visit
to see the white house and the person in it

tell me oh tell me my old friend crow
tell me exactly what it is that you know
about the house on the hill
with the security grille
why do you stop, sir?
why do you hop, sir?
why do you flap and slap and drop, sir?
why do you cry and your black feathers scatter?
why does your cute little crow beak chatter?
tell me oh tell me whatever’s the matter!

it’s the grump!
THE GRUMP!
THAT is why I slump!
That is the reason I stomp and stump!
I will NOT go with you up to the gate
it is much too far and much too late
my wings are tired and my feet aren’t great
I will NOT take you to it!
I will NOT go through it!
I do NOT choose it!
I absolutely REFUSE it!
you can nag
you can beg
but I simply WILL NOT DO IT!

okay
okay
I’m sorry you feel that way
maybe we’ll save it for another day

another day I will not
another day I shall not
another day I have not got

C’mon – the grump? said the rat
fixing his tie and straightening his hat
I’m sorry to hear you feel like that
but just tell me flat
this terrible grump – who on earth is THAT?

the crow came close
closer than most
till they were eye to eye and nose to nose
(or nose to beak
to speak
more accurately
the crow being the one with the beak, quite naturally)

the grump!
the GRUMP!
said the crow with a thump
of one fine feathery fist on the other
(which hardly made any noise whatsoever)
the GRUMP is the creature
who lives in that feature
that the history teachers teach ya
the GRUMP is the guy
who lives inside
and whose visit I have so emphatically denied

yes – but – who EXACTLY is this character?
you’re not the world’s most reliable narrator
if you don’t tell me soon I’ll see ya later

then I’ll tell you said the crow
as the rat turned to go
Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!
I’ll tell you what you want to know
about the Grump who lives in the house made of snow
and I’ll tell it in song with my old banjo…

oh no
on no
not the old banjo
said the rat
nixing him flat
I do NOT want to know
if it means another shitey old crow show
just tell me simply, nice n’slow
tell me the one thing I want to know
who IS this grump and why does he matter?
and please be quick because I’ve got a full bladder

the crow sighed
threw his banjo aside
sadly shook his head
and this is what he said

the grump is the president or was till they voted
when they called the count and he was supposed to be demoted
but he lost his mind and clings on to power
snapping towels at his aides from the shower
oh don’t make me do it!
I won’t take you to it!

okay fine – FINE – said the rat
I can understand that
he sounds a bit of a sulky brat

he is said the crow
but it’s worse than you know
he will not leave the house of snow
he stamps and he shouts
and they cannot get him out
they can not make him, he will not go
no no
he will not
and his face is red and his wig is shot
and when they say he is done he says he is NOT
and something else I’ve momentarily forgot

but c’mon! said the rat – there are legal channels
for the extrication of recalcitrant mammals
yeah? said the crow
he’s got nuclear codes
so tell me – what ELSE would you like to know?

(with a nod, apology & much love to Dr Seuss)