The Craven

The Craven  
The Craven  
(With apologies to E.A. Poe)

Once upon a midnight dreary, while Trump pondered leaks
and leery
over media complaints so furious at his volumes o’misbegotten tweets galore  —

While he plotted, clearly snacking, suddenly there
came a tapping,
As of Obama rap’n tapping crazy
From inside his microwavy.
“ ’Tis some thugger,” thus he muttered, “tapping at my
Oven door—
Only this and and a whole lot more.”

Back to his chamber & cell phone turning, all his coal within him burning,
Soon again he heard a tapping something louder than before.
“Surely,” said he, “surely that is something at my Oval Office door;
Let me see, then, what the threat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my tweets accusatory and this mystery
not ignore
’Tis fake news and nothing more!”
Open here he flung his twitters, when, with Many a fart and flitter,
In there be his TaxReturns
Of the corrupt days of yore;
Perched above his microwave’s door.
Quoth the TaxReturns “Nevermore.”

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