General Discussion

There once was a statesman who typed,
While empathy quietly wiped.
At grief Trump took aim,
For clicks and for fame,
And called it a syndrome he hyped.

A lawmaker rose with a sigh,
Said, “Must mourning now toe party lines?”
When blood still is warm,
And hearts are half-torn,
Is this when we monetize crime?

The press beat their drums with delight:
“At last! He’s unfit! This is it!”
They polished their takes,
Ignored human stakes,
And feasted on moralistic spite.

The Reiner family lay broken in shards,
But grief made for terrible cards.
Too solemn to trend,
Too human to bend
To pundits in need of new yards.

So Swift would propose, with a grin,
A cure for our national sin:
Replace every tear
With a sponsor’s veneer—
And auction compassion to win.

Let sorrow be parsed on the air,
By panels exquisitely fair,
Who’ll argue till dawn
If death helps or harms
The optics of power and prayer.

And should we ask softly, “Is this
A man who should govern the midst?”
The answer rings true,
But not for the view
That rage is a virtue we’ve missed.