It’s President’s Day (which was named after me),
Since I’m the best Prez that there ever will be.
Perhaps one exception – that’s Abraham Lincoln,
But I’ll overtake him by next term, I’m thinkin’.
They number the Presidents: I’m 45.
I’m the one most beloved out of those still alive:
It’s just Carter, Bill Clinton, and Bush 43.
(I do not count Obama, since he’s dead to me.)
I’ve brought the whole country right back from the brink of
Disaster on every front that I can think of.
Despite all that my predecessors achieved, I
Prefer to recount what they’ve done I’m aggrieved by.
Of all those elected in years that were prior
I don’t think a single one had the desire
That I do to dominate every damn minute
Of all going on, and to keep my hand in it.
Of course, I’m expecting to serve at least four more,
And some speculate I might choose to ignore your
Beloved Constitution and just keep on serving
As long as I like. Do you find that unnerving?
So please celebrate on what I now call “Trump Day.”
My friends ask, “How high?” when I tell them to jump. They
Have all learned their place, getting over their shyness
At calling me – as all of you should – “Your Highness.”
The Trump Poems 