Shakespeare’s Trump, Act III, Scenes I-II

Scene I

Enter JASON in alley.

JASON.

I cannot breathe for bile in bubbling lungs,

And I, physician, have no remedy.

Again, again, the President doth claim

Our sole healthcare achievement of this age

Is but a tenpin to be overturn’d.

And finally he seems to bowl a strike,

With Senate votes sufficient for his aim

Save only one, Republican McCain’s,

Who hems and haws with th’ill and injur’d’s lives

Whilst basking in the limelight he had lost.

My furnace hath no vent. Patients I need,

So patience I must in hospital show

Lest inhospitability ruin me.

I have a son each second Saturday,

And should I wish to check that privilege,

I’d merely need to slacken once my reins

Upon the snarling lycanthrope within

That stirs each time my child saith “Mommy saith,”

And then intones some Fox-fed falsity.

Enter OFFICER.

JASON.

Black rage brings retribution dark and swift,

While white ire, scarcely seen, gets longer shrift.