THE WRECK OF THE MAGA
It was the good ship MAGA
That sailed the Travis Lake
The skipper had taken his pistol
Lest Dems their protests make.
Blue was that pistol's barrel,
As blue as Prussian steel.
Its chamber held six bullets,
Its bearer's wrath to deal.
The skipper he stood beside the helm
His pistol in his hand,
And he marked how his fellow boaters
Paraded forth from land.
"We parade our boats", the skipper cried,
"Our worship for all to see
Of Donald Trump and all his deeds,
We boaters of the GOP!"
Then up and spake an old sailor
A veteran of Travis Lake
"I beg you, slow down this MAGA ship,
For approaches an awesome wake."
"Our little boat is pitching
And no control have thee."
The skipper, he cocked his pistol,
And a scornful laugh laughed he.
So many boats now paraded forth,
Their wakes grew fierce and rough.
But the skipper mocked the old sailor's fears,
He was made of sterner stuff.
The waves did smite the MAGA's hull,
They lashed that boat full sore.
The skipper grew pale and shrank in fear,
He scorned and mocked no more.
"Where are you, Trump", he howled at last,
"Oh where can our leader be?"
No answer came, no hand in aid,
For absent and golfing was he.
And now the fate of the MAGA was sealed,
Likewise the parading horde.
The frothy billows did overwhelm
Those vessels and all aboard.
At day's end on Travis Lake's beach
A fisherman peered from land,
And saw washed up a boater's corpse,
A pistol in its hand.
Red was that pistol's barrel,
As red as rust can be,
Its bearer's mouth was filled with slime,
A deplorable sight to see.
Such was the wreck of the MAGA,
A metaphor for all to heed.
Put not thy faith in idols false,
Pick a leader worthy to lead.
Inspiration drawn from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s The Wreck of the Hesperus