Trump Haiku: 7

[Poetry editor’s note: this will be the last of the Trump haiku for the foreseeable future. Both Lance Newman and I feel that Trump has recently crossed a line and can no longer be seen, even by the most jaded ironist, as a figure of fun. When Trump talks about keeping a database of Muslims and ‘roughing up’ a Black Lives Matter protester, and at the same time we have Paris and Minneapolis and Chicago, is a gentle lampoon really the right response? You can kill bacteria by shining a UV light on them, but to kill a fire, deny it oxygen. —E.K.]
[Each of these haiku is composed solely of the Donald’s own words.]
I can feel it like
I feel a good location.
I can predict it.

Millions of people
are online trying to come
into this country.

A heavy Arab
population were cheering
as the buildings fell.

If I were running
things those people would not have
been in the country.

You bet your ass. I’d approve it
in a heartbeat.

We’re going to have
to do things that we never
had to do before.
Lance Newman’s poems have appeared in print and web magazines published in Australia, Canada, the U.K., and the U.S., including 1913, BlazeVox, Fringe, Moria, No Tell Motel, nthposition, otoliths, Pemmican, Perigee, Stride, West Wind Review, and Zyzzyva. His two chapbooks, Come Kanab (Dusi-e/chaps Kollectiv, 2007) and 3by3by3 (Beard of Bees, 2010), are freely available on the web. He also curates the blogzine 3by3by3, a poetic experiment in human/machine collaboration.

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