A Long Time Coming was written in November of 2018. It is a light-hearted poem about the last day in office of President Donald Trump, who is not my favorite person. Whatever your political beliefs, I hope you can enjoy reading this poem in the spirit in which it was written.
Please feel free to share your thoughts in the comments section at the end of the poem.
A Long Time Coming
How I wish that I had been there on the day they took him down,
When they rode him, tarred and feathered, on a rail straight out of town.
I hear he ran and tried to hide, when he realized what was waiting –
six officers with handguns drawn and nightsticks, handcuffs dangling.
“Help me, I can’t go to jail!” his plaintive wail resounded.
“Where’s Michael Cohen, get him here! He’ll prove these claims unfounded.”
But Michael long ago had turned, as well as Don McGahn.
With no one left to lie for him, he had no other plan.
Down the hall and up the stairs his panicked footsteps sounded.
“I will not go to jail,” he said. For once, he seemed confounded.
Wild-eyed and angry, too, hair streaming out behind him,
He heard them in the hall below, as agents tried to find him.
Muscles pumping, out of breath, in sweats and teeshirt clad,
He paused to catch his breath at last, so pathetic, really “sad”.
He darted past the bedrooms, looking for a place to hide.
Searching for the perfect spot the agents would not find.
One was far too obvious, and one was way too near.
Finally, the Lincoln Bedroom up ahead appeared.
He ran into the room and stopped beside the famous bed,
“I think I’ll fit beneath it”, was the thought inside his head.
He never stopped to worry if the space was big enough.
With no plan but to hide himself, he gave himself a shove.
Head and shoulders, chest and arms, he wiggled, how he squirmed,
until he nearly disappeared beneath the mattress firm.
His right leg slid beneath the bed, but the left would not go along.
No matter how he wailed and cursed, the left leg rallied strong.
Our President, half in half out, was stuck beneath the bed,
He could not move in further, and he could not turn his head.
“Melania, oh, help me! Please, you’ve got to push me in!”
But Melania had second thoughts. She held his foot and grinned.
Down the hall the troopers came, their shiny handcuffs dangling.
They found him on the bedroom floor, half-hidden and complaining.
“You can’t arrest me! I’m your chief”, he screamed as they drew near.
“I’ll throw you all in jail”, he said, but they didn’t seem to hear.
And so they marched him to the car, half-dragging him along,
As crowds of people watched the scene, outside on the White House lawn.
He tried to stop when they reached the car, but the guards pushed him inside,
slammed the door and locked him in, with no place else to hide.
The crowd grew louder, voices raised, a deafening crescendo,
as Jared and Ivanka looked out from the upstairs window.
“Curse you all, I’m taking names,” he threatened all his captors.
His voice rose high and shrill that day, but you know, it didn’t matter.
Down the drive the cars pulled out with lights and sirens blaring,
On to justice, on to jail, it’s been a long time coming.