Get me out of the gutter
I plaintively mutter
you make me live a world I do not choose
I am aware of what I lose
it’s all your fault
for touting your golden throne
as your toilet by default
where you can sit alone
and pontificate your droppings
as gifts to the populace slopping
words without wisdom and making us wonder
what wipes away the under
no toilet paper for you
you tried gold foil
but that just doesn’t soil
well absorbency of zero
viscosity no hero
would claim who aspires
to strike a match and light the fires
to clear the air
of fecund despair
you tried fleece dyed golden
but that clogged the pipes of olden
plumbing so you reached for paper
the unread Constitution as the shaper
of democracy now useful to wipe
and flush away the swipe
and I don’t even want to imagine such things
my tired heart sings
the joy of retribution
we have more copies of the Constitution