If you’re hungry, we won’t feed you.
And for God’s sake – don’t be poor.
Hope that plaque did not mislead you:
You’re not welcome anymore.
Can you stand on both your own feet
And not crush our country’s toes?
Do not ask us for a loan, Pete;
We will not be granting those.
If you’re likely to use food stamps,
Or you lack toothbrush and comb,
You will doubtlessly be screwed, Gramps –
Turn around and go back home.
Sure, we used to take the tired;
Masses yearning for a breath –
But, unless you can get hired,
That’s an ancient shibboleth.
With a lamp that now burns clean coal,
We’ve raised registration fees.
Entry now a Byzantine goal:
Try some other nation, please.
The Trump Poems 