If in the basket of deplorables must I be,
To quote a term most used by sweetest Hilary,
Then let me state this best I can,
I'm voting for our country, not the man.

A country where race and gender aren't the bait,
But where everyone is open to debate,
United by a sense of common pride
Holding back divisions’ surging tide.

Where knowledge of our strength is used for good,
And our intent for peace is not misunderstood;
Making clear to tyrants our firm resolve,
So that by dialogue not war may they
squabbles solve.

A nation where our people are first in line
And not succumb to disadvantages or imported crime,
From open borders with illegals pouring through,
With misguided politicians caring more for them than you.

Where doctrine is replaced by common sense,
From the fringes seeking dominance hell-bent.
Boys competing fully in girls sport,
No reasoned thought for when children to abort.

Politicians’ vanity projects not worth
Squandering our money with intent and
unrequited mirth;
While millions live in poverty and need,
Ignored by legislators craving fame and intellectual greed.

I want our leaders to respect our flag,
And not applaud when to the ground protestors stomp and drag;
And for why, but to score a series of cheap shots,
Empowering radicals to ferment those never ending plots.

So yes, my vote goes to just my country,
And if a name must I choose, I say this humbly,
My selection won't be for one that's woke,
Or that will seek to send our country broke.

Politicians convince themselves they're special,
They are in fact a wallowing empty vessel,
Using their guile and mimic to impress,
When truth be told, they almost invariably depress.

What if I can see it, smell it, almost touch it,
That gilded throne where I will proudly sit,
Would people think me mad,
Is my ambition so preposterous and bad.

And why not me, have I not earned this crown,
Someone not worthy of that queenly gown,
Bejeweled and composed for all to see,
My vassals all around, bowing deep to me.

Naysayers bleat I'm just an empty ship,
With lights and streamers pretending to be hip,
Without a cargo or destination clear,
Sailing in circles relying on the wind to steer.

But if we're given to analogies, what if I were a Trojan horse,
With clear intent and undisputed course,
Where guile and purpose rule the day,
The aim to soundly win not merely one to play.

Demean and underrate me at your peril,
I can pivot between angel and pure devil,
While my laugh is designed to be disarming,
It masks a side of me considerably less charming.

Everything I've wanted I've achieved,
A trajectory few would have believed,
Do you think I'll stop at this last jump,
And in so doing fully flatten Trump?

I am Indian by birthright,
Simply black when it feels right,
A gender champion through and through,
A Southern Belle from the Bayou.

I cover all the bases from Gay rights to MeToo,
Environmental warriors – I’ll always stand with you.
Black lives truly matter, the Homeless my pet task,
All you need is Me, you don’t even need to ask.

Show me any audience and I'll immediately relate,
Where's the very harm to myself Ingratiate;
They say my laughs a cackle, but that's blatantly untrue,
It's simply Inner-me, reaching out to Outer-you.

As to championing Hamas, that's nothing but a slur,
The fact my husband's Jewish should that thought conclusively deter,
Same deal with loving felons, what will they dream up next,
That I'm a prosecutor who's never read the text?

On drugs and immigration, they titled me the Tsar,
I never asked for that as our Border is too far,
I'd rather spend my days engaging our core base,
Cajoling them to spend for this pivotal new race.

Vance calls me a Chameleon, Trump's confused by who I am,
They'll figure soon enough the cunning of this femme,
The more I keep them guessing, the less prepared they'll be,
When finally I pounce, then they'll twig who's truly me.

I've got the Party pliant, putty in my hands,
Celebrities galore, like shiny rubber bands;
Money pouring in, donors by the score,
All the worthwhile Media gushing it's Kamala they adore.

As to any policies, I don't stay up at nights,
Why worry when my bag holds Reproductive rights;
C'mon Donald, admit you’ve badly lost,
I'm the future President and you’ll be simply Toast.

A coronation, watched by our entire great nation,
Some with trepidation, others boisterous jubilation.
Trump feted, his fawning family silhouetted,
Basking in his light, his confidence and might.

This Grand Old Party, it's followers vociferous and hearty,
Anointing their chosen man, to rule their ever-growing clan;
No harm to love a cause, giving thought and sometimes pause,
To what this passion brings, the words the siren sings.

Whereas strong leadership is good, it can be tainted just like food,
For democracy renounced, cannot then easily be found.
Let’s be careful what we wish, lest it be a poisoned dish,
Our founders crafted choice, beyond just
one resounding voice;

Autocracy is not a word, that in our Lexicon is heard,
We must vigilance ensure, for our country's story to endure.
Unity the dream, but like salmon in a raging stream,
Needs fortitude and grit, knowing when to fight and for the greater good, submit.

I play by the rules day in and day out,
Showing my class, wielding my clout.
I take the hard blows time and again,
Knowing my patience shan't be in vain.

Joe's on the ropes, all by himself,
Waiting around to be dumped on the shelf,
Restraint is my friend, as I pull back and watch,
Those flailing wild jabs I so easily dodge.

There's one rule to fighting, it's Biding your time,
Showing him up, using his dime,
Keeping ones cool, letting him dance,
Then all in one motion - destructively prance.

There's rhyme to the reason for the 12
Rounds to be,
So everyone knows, all clearly can see,
The prowess of one, the demise of the other,
An abject defeat, no spin as a buffer.

The guys just a has been yet I'm giving him grace,
Watching him flail, not setting the pace,
The fun's in the waiting, a matter of time,
For him to fall over, his crown to be mine.

From the lofty snowcapped peaks
of Kilimanjaro
The morning mist envelopes its verdant foothills in a tight embrace,
No need to hurry, this is not a race,
Beads of sunlight dancing across the glistening dew.

As the plains of Amboseli reveal their golden hue,
There's movement spied where none existed moments prior,
A herd of Zebra lounging in their elegant attire,
The lush grasslands beckoning them for yet another day.

The few Wildebeest amongst them if only they could talk they'd say,
We're happy to be safe in this weird and motley crowd,
Despite the fact these Zebras are so boisterous and loud,
What's a little banter when the promise is of grazing in contented peace.

Double is their luck as the pert Egyptian geese
Act as wary Sentinels, their honks resounding loud,
Alerted by the pride of crouching lions, their countenance so proud,
Scouting for that meal for their young to feed.

A Wildebeest or two would fill those hunger pangs indeed,
Were it not for those Hyenas prowling on their scent,
To steal their hard-fought prize definitely hell bent,
Neither party cowered, neither will give
ground.

But what's a little tiff when prey does so abound,
A fragile land of bounty, God's country that's for sure,
Where every single creature finds ways to gainfully endure,
Africa in all its glory, nature’s living work of art.

Mumbling, stumbling, inaudible rambling,
The pity, the pain all but Biden now feel,
A spent man bereft, resorting to grumbling,
The fishing line out for opponents to reel.

How did we now reach this insufferable place,
Where a once wily Joe spun his fine web,
Enticing, enveloping with street gotten grace,
His mock Irish banter making folks fall in step.

The ravage of age, that indiscriminate scythe,
Lacking compassion, blind in its grasp,
Cutting down poppy's both lowly and high,
Never once stopping to ponder or ask.

So it falls to the man, with loving advice,
To know when to pen those few final chapters,
Leave it too late and it's a roll of the dice,
A legacy lost and good name in tatters.

Blind pride a sheer folly at most times in life,
Obscuring the path that shows us the way,
The one to traverse with safety not strife,
Avoiding its grasp, not falling its prey.

Country the goal before lowly ambition,
Wisdom and service the call for each day,
This is America's greatest tradition
The foundation from which no leader should sway.