There’s a greenhouse
back of the White House
long, blond tables
trays of dollars & roubles
planted with presidential cuttings:
a golfing pin
a toenail
a cufflink
really – anything’ll do it

shut the door and I’ll talk you through it

once a month
President Trump
meets with a secret scientific team
of the highest horticultural esteem
with micro-harvesting machines
everything scrubbed & clinically clean
for the collection of presidential material
animal, vegetable, mineral
from the screaming chief imperial
which they spray with a potent, patent POTUS solution
then take to the greenhouse to grow in seclusion
row upon row of orange seedlings
(warmed by the light of FOX in the evenings)

and the strange flowers grow
& swell into pods in portly rows
red leaves on top
tendrils that flop
until they’re fine and fat and ready to pop
when out will drop
a line of half-formed Trumpettes
blind & bland as a bunch of courgettes
but ready to take on the exact dimension
of anybody you happen to mention
(all you have to do is plant them in a bed
with access to the person’s head
a little water, a day and a half at best;
the trumpy tendrils will do the rest)

I’ve watched a procession of military crates
shipped at night through the White House gates
to target all those countries and states
that have the gall to celebrate
all the things they hate

I’m telling you man
It’s a world-wide plan
the patriarchs and oligarchs have hatched
with Trump at the heart of the vegetable patch

and

THEY’RE HERE, ALREADY! YOU’RE NEXT!

 

 

 

 

 

(inspired by & last line quote from ‘The Invasion of the Body Snatchers‘ 1956)