If I had been a general, I think I’d be a really good one.
Devising battle plans, deploying troops: I think that’s quite inviting.
Handsome in my uniform, I’d have a very long and good run –
As long as there was no need to become involved in actual fighting.
I’d know more about combatants than the highest-ranking officer;
Just watch me push around those toy-sized tanks and soldiers on a big map.
I’d always be victorious, no matter what the cost incurred –
As long as you don’t think between “complete” and “almost” is a big gap.
Like Rommel in the desert, I would be a masterful tactician.
(Many Allies praised him, even though I guess he was a Nazi.)
But don’t put me near sand and death; I don’t think that should be my mission:
Station me in Florida, with Mar-A-Lago as the hot seat.
On a great big world map, I’d make a mark where all war zones were:
Fights between two enemies? Then my command: “Let’s stay out of it.”
In custom-fitted jackboots (with orthotics in them, due to bone spurs)
Troops would hoot and holler when I visit – there is no doubt of it.
I just fired a general who I felt hadn’t done much for me.
(Some say he resigned in protest – but that’s not the way I see it.)
I’d have seven stars; that’s more than anyone who came before me.
The world would be a safer place with me in charge – I guarantee it.
Left unsaid in all of this is that I *am* the Chief Commander;
Every single soldier is already under my direction.
Even those in uniform have been subjected to my slander.
Wonder if the troops will still support me, come the next election?
The Trump Poems 