There Is A Place

            When you’re in the doghouse for having stirred the loo.

            When your language skills are mean; lacking harmony.

            When you’re confused and troubled, just an orange shade of blue.

            When the world is on your case, there’s a place where you can be.

            When mere citizens dishonor your illicit interdictions.          

            When judges steer the ship beyond the sixteenth century.

            When all those egg-heads criticize mid-sentence contradictions.

            There’s a place where you can go- it’s a place called Covfefe.

            On the island of Covfefe you’re always number one.

            You can steal, assault and bully, and think you’re having fun.

            It’s a stone’s throw east of Snafu, in the Grand Kerfuffle Bight.

            You can flee there- finding exile, or just stay there overnight.

            There are no zoning laws to bother. Boundless development.

            You can erect gold plated edifi upon the virgin sand.

            There are roomy vaults and your own gangster ac-count-ant.

            There’s golf and gambling. Try our watersports! (Cameras are banned)

            Whoever hears your theories would adopt your firm beliefs.

            Whoever you would fire would stay permanently canned.

            You can scuba in Covfefe. (Though it lacks a coral reef)

            Whoever takes a stroll with you would firmly hold your hand.

            Covfefe! Land of Weasels! Who grasp with boundless glee.

            Large words find no harbor- like ‘constitutionality’.

            You can chill with all the psychopaths, the fugitive detri.

            And be alive and well and living on the Isle Of Covfefe.