The nation mourned the loss of Bush (the 41st) this week.
I was invited to the service – but was not allowed speak.
If they’d let me give a homily, here’s what I would have said:
“He used to be a President – and now the man is dead.”
I haven’t ever shown respect for any of the Bushes;
There isn’t much love lost between, if shoves come after pushes.
They never groveled at my feet, which I found sort of funny…
Perhaps that’s ‘cause they had no need for any of my money.
I stepped up to a row with former presidents galore,
The body language there suggested no esprit de corps.
I shook hands with Obama, though I cannot stand the guy;
And Hillary’s disdain clear: would not look me in the eye.
I sat through the entire service, barely moving lips.
The star power found in that cathedral put me in eclipse.
The overriding theme throughout: how Bush was kind and decent,
Unlike the White House occupant whose tenure is most recent.
I did the best I could all week to get rid of the animus,
And tried to treat the Bushes in a way thought as magnanimous.
But I will never be adored, no matter how I strive to:
When time comes for my funeral, they’ll hold it in a drive-thru.
The Trump Poems 