There’s no way that I lost; simply cannot conceive
that my time at the helm ends just as I’ve begun. We’ve
tried all sorts of techniques to make our country great –
if you’re willing to overlook all of the hate.
When it comes to a loss, I have never been gracious;
my grip on civility’s not that tenacious.
I really don’t care what the protocol’s been.
If I can’t win with facts, then I’ll crush it with spin.
I’ve got ballots in hand from some folks who have died,
and I’ve claimed they won’t let my observers inside.
If some votes contain errors, they should not be “cured.”
Also, Sharpies cause problems – at least, so I’ve heard.
Of ten thousand votes in Las Vegas thought sketchy,
we only found one; even that was a stretch. We
based that allegation on some random sticky note.
Yet still I complain I’ve been squelched by a tricky vote.
If this referendum can’t be reversed, then
there are already rumors I’ll run once again.
Richard Nixon came back: tan and rested and ready –
whereas I’d come back orange, spent, and unsteady.
Will I bow out gracefully? Too late for that;
don’t expect such behavior from this autocrat.
There’s no way I’ll go gentle into that good night –
unless I move to where they cannot extradite.
The Trump Poems 