Shakespeare’s Trump, Act III, Scene IV-VII
Scene IV
Enter KIM JONG UN, tweeting.
KIM JONG UN
It is no mere threat but a reality:
Beneath my finger Armageddon lies.
From my workstation’s timber quietude
To all U.S. municipalities,
My phalanx-flick could kill by atom-fire.
Enter TRUMP, tweeting.
TRUMP.
The North Korean leader, Kim Jong Un,
Has boasted he strokes button nuclear.
I know not what he reads or whom he hears.
Will citizens of his impov’rish’d land
Act as my heralds? Tell him buttons come
In many sizes, and mine is as large
And Jupiterean as any made,
And unlike his pin’s-prick, my button works.
TRUMP and KIM JONG UN begin to regard one another. Enter CNN REPORTER, tweeting.
CNN REPORTER.
There is no button, naught that one can press
In either leader’s office that might fall
’Neath pounding fist in frenzied fit of pique.
’Tis men, not things, that one should ever fear.
Their rage is Greek fire, burning all held dear. Exit.
KIM JONG UN (to TRUMP).
I know thy state and mine are opposite,
But some class me and thee as mirror-selves.
I hate thee, yet I must bear love for thee,
As sharp reflection of the love I bear
For me myself.
TRUMP.
And I myself am me
And therefore thou, Un, one we are, we two.
Like Vladimir, my Russian brother, thou
Art one who bends a nation to thy will
Instead of vetting ev’ry word thou speak’st
With bloodless focus groups advising thee.
I hold such hate for representatives
Who let the people tell them who to be,
Those selfsame who so frequently find fault
With me despite my golden greatness grand.
Chest-thumping king thou art, Jim Kong! Well named!
Let us be friends. We can accomplish much.
KIM JONG UN.
Your Excellency, I am touch’d and mov’d
To find such amity from longtime foe.
This scene betokens Tolkienesquerie,
Our fellowship as firmly fateful as
Those born of warring races clasping hands
In union ’gainst the eye of greater threat.
TRUMP (texting).
My friend Kim Jong Un
Shines as brightly as the moon,
To the world a boon.
KIM JONG UN (aside).
Haiku as taught in U.S. English class
Is not a form much practic’d in its land
Of origin, which is Japan, not here.
Our form, the sijo, even scarcer is.
But chivalry demands that I accept
What’s offer’d up in guileless innocence.
(to DONALD, texting). My friend Donald Trump
From peak to tower doth jump.
His tibiae pump.
TRUMP (texting).
The promise of youth,
Smile etch’d in ivory tooth:
Appearance is sooth.
KIM JONG UN (texting).
Thy unravel’d strength
Fractions rivals to nothingths
Like thy tie’s swell’d length.
TRUMP (texting).
Of fame Korean
I could crowquill a paean
Quite logorrhean.
KIM JONG UN (texting).
The United States,
Once more among nations’ greats,
Deciding all fates.
TRUMP and KIM JONG UN (aside, as one).
He is my very image, me but flat,
By flattery inflated, substanceless.
He dances as a puppet on my string,
And through his hand, I rescue everything.
Exeunt omnes.
Shakespeare’s Trump, Act III, Scene V
CHRISTOPHER sleeps abed. Enter MEMORY OF JASON.
MEMORY OF JASON.
Kill Trump.
CHRISTOPHER (awakens).
What’s that? Is burglar here?
MEMORY OF JASON.
Kill Trump.
Exit MEMORY OF JASON.
CHRISTOPHER.
It was a shade, half dreamt and half recall’d.
Though sentry-work from Lockheed Martin has
Reoccupied my hands and eyes, my soul’s
Preoccupied with White House going gray.
The protestors I parted long ago
Now better speak my thoughts than I myself.
But I am more than thoughts. I conscience have,
And consciousness, though this wee hour leads
The brute unconscious common voice and force.
Enter MEMORY OF JASON.
MEMORY OF JASON.
Kill Trump.
Kill him.
Wait not for others to assert norms
Once thought inviolable.
Remember thy previous boss and his words:
“We are the ones we have been waiting for.”
Kill Trump.
Enter MEMORY OF AMNON.
MEMORY OF AMNON.
But how?
This is no gnat to squash against the screen,
No houseguest-king Macbeth could scheme against.
Thy colleagues would all stand against thy gun
And block thy shots with their trapezii.
Thou wouldst do naught but sacrifice good souls
Before their time, and even that presumes
Thou couldst gain access to thy former work.
MEMORY OF JASON.
Do not confabulate such quitter-speech.
Dost thou imagine those still at their posts
Are not as sick of Donald Trump as thou?
Though we maintain’d our men-in-black mystique,
The President did sabotage our work
With greed-incompetence, as he shall do
To all he toucheth. Mercenary thugs
Did mingle equally amongst our ranks,
To serve the man above the office. Thy
Good friend informs thee now they comb the streets
Procuring courtesans to fill Trump’s bed.
MEMORY OF AMNON.
This is no opportunity for Chris.
His genderfluidness doth not suffice
To be a Presidential concubine.
His pronoun “he” remaineth fasten’d firm.
MEMORY OF JASON.
The point is Trump’s disdain for expertise
Doth make him vulner’ble on many fronts,
As none know more than one who shielded him
Despite himself.
MEMORY OF AMNON.
While insecure he is,
I am not certain he is unsecur’d.
’Twas he install’d a lock on’s bedroom door,
And loves fast food in part because its speed
Means none can garnish it with cyanide.
We found these moves insulting when we serv’d,
But regicidal contemplation seems
To justify their practicality.
MEMORY OF JASON.
He also watches television in
His private chambers on three sep’rate screens
From dusk ’til dawn in tweetful ten-wink sleep.
His quirks may frustrate some assassin’s blades,
But therein lieth opportunity.
Predictability allows a plan.
Kill Trump.
MEMORY OF AMNON.
Thou’rt not a murderer, and well thou know’st
How often single corpse becomes a host —
MEMORY OF JASON.
Kill Trumps.
Ivanka, Eric, Jared, Junior Don:
They’re all complicit. Barron, Tiffany
Are seeds that shall take root. Destroy his line.
MEMORY OF AMNON.
Shalt thou cut down grandchildren not yet grown
Or leave them fatherless?
MEMORY OF JASON.
Worse.
Kill “Trump.”
Demolish buildings that still bear his name.
His steaks, already cinders, thou’lt inter.
The “Trump Organization,” order’d not,
Remove from business with quick-launch’d grenades.
MEMORY OF AMNON.
Insulting though it is to see that name
In edifices rudely scraping sky,
One must keep feet on ground.
MEMORY OF JASON.
Kill Trumpists.
Lay waste to all who lie sans consequence.
Let any statesperson who chooseth wrong
In conflict ’twixt their nation and their man
Be hang’d as traitor by thine own garotte
’Til death. Sic semper proditoribus.
Let Brett Kavanaugh thine own justice meet.
Blow Fox News stations into crater-ash.
Force-feed Sean Hannity to Lou Dobbs whole,
Then make th’remains Limbaugh’s limburger stew.
Break into Google’s servers to secure
Address of every stinking Nixonite
Who uses YouTube’s mic to worship power
Whilst economic inequality
Doth send more power still to those least fit.
Perform proctology with their Klieg lights
Until their bulbs scorch black their lying tongues.
And then turn to the useful idiot
Cheerleaders. Thou shalt grip their foolish caps
In viselike talons, tearing from their skulls
Their MAGA badges and the brows adorn’d,
Repaying red with red.
MEMORY OF AMNON.
Desist, thou’rt mad!
I know ’twas hard on all who kept the faith
When we elected King this George the Fourth,
But justice doth not blame a con man’s marks!
MEMORY OF JASON.
Spare thy excuse! I’ll hear no fairy tales
Of “economics-bred anxiety”
T’excuse the everyday brutality
To Blacks, Hispanics, gays, trans, otherwhats
Of any stripe. Our country hate exhales
As stars do helium, and with same force.
Why should Republicans have all the fun
With AK-47s? Is’t not time
That a mass shooting for the masses spoke?
MEMORY OF AMNON.
We must forgive.
I am all too aware we turn on ours
For diff’rences both visible and not.
But hatred only thrives in absences.
When policy neglecteth polity,
The darken’d dampness spreadeth toxic mold.
And hate breeds fear, and fear breeds more neglect.
Our woes have no one cause, and thus no cure
As simply snipp’d as single-scissor’d stem.
CHRISTOPHER.
And making Donald Trump my only blame
Would feed Narcissus-waters scarcely less
Than those who give him all their love and trust.
For I well know he’d sooner rule in Hell
Than serve in Heaven. My obsession’s vote
Elects him king of hell in my own heart,
A title like his others undeserv’d.
Begone, debaters. Peace shall rule this night.
Sleeps.
MEMORY OF JASON.
So be it. But tomorrows bring more light,
And Lucifer is lightbringer to some.
Rest now, but thou may yet dance t’war-drum.
Exeunt MEMORY OF JASON, MEMORY OF AMNON.
Shakespeare’s Trump, Act III, Scene VI
TRUMP stands in black pajamas in the Lincoln Bedroom. Enter WINTER FROST, a sometime woman of the evening, dress’d provocatively.
TRUMP.
The curtain rises! Enter Winter Frost,
The female lead in this, my latest play!
The audience at first holds up their hands,
Politeness magnetizing them apart,
Lest any scripted words she mellifies
Unfairly drown’d in clapping downpour be.
But swimming in her warm jacuzzi eyes,
Each viewer understands she understands.
’Tis beauty’s privilege, decoding wants,
Fulfilling those it will, and with such gift
More beautiful it grows to those it serves.
’Til age wrecks all, of course.
But never mind.
She pauses to allow those hands to clap,
And finally observers do begin
T’embrace the air in bursting passion-squeeze
Again, again, again, o’erlapping swell,
Conferring stardom with each hoot and yell.
WINTER.
Good evening, loving public. Thank you all.
I hope that my performance earns such praise
As offer’d to my face.
TRUMP.
And legs, and breasts,
And though imagin’d as thou face me, thy
Kardashianic end was what began
My interest in thee.
WINTER.
Director, sir,
Explain my role. Are hidden cameras here?
Is this job interview, or teleplay,
Or meal? The Lincoln Bedroom does not seem
Th’best venue for those, so I expect
Some unannounc’d fourth function doth await.
TRUMP.
All shall be clear in time. (aside) What shall I say
To lubricate this conversation’s flow?
Small talk side-steppeth me, for others’ wants
So rarely seem important — she resumes.
WINTER.
Your private bodyguards who met me claim’d
You had positions you would see me in.
Such ambiguity I sweated not,
As I have always earned my way in life
Through sweating, on my feet or on my back,
O’er tables, kneeling, riding, it’s all one,
I have become one with whoe’er’s intent
Hath driven me. But I was told you would
Instruct your legendary chefs to please
Our palates, juices dribbling down our chins,
As you did dine with me. I am not sure
That preposition’s true: Mayhap you said
An on instead of with. Your fulsome praise
And roaming eyes necessitate I feel
Like delicacy wrapp’d in paper shell,
So easily unpackag’d, sugar’d, moist,
Demanding bites from any water’d mouth,
A chocoholic-maker, yet reserv’d
For he who is most powerful of men.
Kisses him. They embrace and fall upon the bed. A moment later, he rises.
TRUMP.
I realize my puissance overwhelms,
So if thou needest zizz, indulge thyself.
We shall resume anon, once —
Sleeps. WINTER rises.
WINTER (aside).
I am experienc’d in scenes like this;
A Congress-woman I could fair be call’d.
And yet I find I question all I knew
When I review these picoseconds, seek
To call them sex, and fail to think the thought.
Aphasic void means words do not mean words.
Is this a prank? Doth my confusion cheer
An audience? Is this indeed a show,
That television class’d “reality”
Which this the free world’s leader hath produc’d?
Well did I wonder that the President
Would seek again sex workers’ company.
The Stormy Daniels lawsuit occupies
The nation’s rapt attention. Still, she is
An actress and producer, albeit
Of films whose titles, spoken, raise a blush.
I pose less threat than one of influence.
I am a common whore, whom none would miss.
And saying so aloud draws tight my nerves.
I could be made to pose yet lesser threat.
I’ll take my leave —
TRUMP (waking).
The greatest sex thou’st had!
I know, for ’tis my curse this life to live
That none can capture sans superlative.
Honorificabilitudinitatibus
Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, yea!
WINTER.
You have quite hit it, sir. Indeed. Well phras’d.
TRUMP.
Trump knoweth all the greatest words there are,
From bigleague to tremendous to disgust.
His golfclub swing is ever under par.
He rouseth love whene’er he rouse not lust.
WINTER (aside).
This litany beginneth to grow odd.
I know not what to do save smile and nod.
TRUMP.
I have not seen a thing I could not make,
And all I’ve made, my very name hath sold.
Conditioner, shoe polish, wine, and steak
Do bear my brand in tasteful rooms of gold.
WINTER (aside).
I am reminded I was promis’d food.
’Twould leaven my confusticated mood.
TRUMP.
Bards o’hip-hop dareth not compose a verse
Intended to encompass me, their Don.
I, I, I, I, I am a universe:
Infinitudes of boundlessness stretch on!
TRUMP continues speaking, unheard.
WINTER (aside).
I’ve many clients who declar’d their love
As our transaction ended in a rush,
But most would dote on me and not themselves.
I begin t’doubt this man perceives exchange
As I or they would. Money’s everything
And yet unreal to those who’ve had too much
Throughout their lives. My payment, to his mind,
Is to receive his Mario-toadstool,
And service I provide in recompense
Is now to hang upon his hymn to him,
An effluence more generous than aught
He offers to another. And e’en this
He’ll see as gift to me. How blest I am:
My mushroom meal comes with a side of ham.
Shakespeare’s Trump, Act III, Scene VII
Enter CORONAVIRUS 1.
CORONAVIRUS 1.
I.
Enter CORONAVIRUS 2.
CORONAVIRUS 1 and 2.
I am.
Enter CORONAVIRUS 3.
CORONAVIRUS 1, 2 and 3.
I am more.
Enter CORONAVIRUS 4.
CORONAVIRUS 1, 2, 3, and 4.
I am more and.
Enter CORONAVIRUS 5.
CORONAVIRUS 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5.
I am more and more.
Exeunt omnes.
