If Mr. Trump were to win the November election, all sorts of interesting questions arise: Would he ask someone to write and read an inaugural poem? Would the writer have to get the poem cleared by Trump and Trump staffers? Would Chachi be there? Most interesting of all, though, is this: would the poet accept the invitation.

Jennifer L. Knox dives into the deep irony of the request. She contrasts the Republican nominee’s reliance on cliché, triumphalism, and disregard with poetry’s resistance toward those values—and she does it by way of poetry itself. Here is her poem:


This is a Terrific Poem About Me Being Elected President of the United States. It’s Called, “Color Me Tomorrow, Today.” (shrugs) That’s Weird, But It’s Really a Terrific Poem, Folks. The Best.

“Gird your loins, small handed men!”
I like that (crowd hoots). “Strike up a wench-
pithy polka to which…” (eyes dart left,
makes stink face) “…teeeyou wheech…”
(makes fey gesture with his tiny hand,
crowd goes bananas) It’s a poem, folks!
(crowd haws) OK, back to the poem:
“For every goodly human in this football
stadium here today, I sayeth unto thee…”
(eye roll) It’s like the frickin’ Bible (yee-haws)
“I am scared of new words and mirrors” ?
“I am a trapped raccoon man” ?
What is this shit? (hands poem to giant
glowing hairless toxic waste baby in front row,
baby eats the poem, glows brighter) Lookit that!
(points, crowd applauds, caws, makes lawn mower/
machine gun sounds). Now that’s the power
of poetry, folks! (President ascends on wires).

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