by Ron Singer.
-1-
Since Dante’s day, sinners had poured into Hell,
mirroring the overcrowding above.
So many misdemeanors, felonies, fell,
that the nine circles, for money or love,
could not hold a killer or sneak thief more
(though palm-greasers and -greased worked hand-in-glove).
To ferrying, Charon had added realty,
but, like the rest of his ilk, his new role
left little room for fraternal fealty.
Thus, when a developer-thief-turned-pol
sought a variance, by means of a bribe,
Charon refused. “For your crew, The Tenth Hole!
Although, on Earth, you pretended to thrive,
you and your meinie shall do no deals here!
From White House to Shit House, you must now dive.
What’s more, one hole, only, for your whole tribe.”
And so, pace the sin, whether greed or pride,
they were flung, pell-mell, down to the new pit,
there to sink or swim in an ocean of shit.
-2-
“Help! Where am I?” Trump, beset with jet lag, croaked.
“I can’t swim! Draining the swamp, I almost drowned.”
“Impossible!” cried A.G. Barr. “Blimps float.”
A doorstop, himself, Barr mopped poo from his brow.
“You’re toast. No ‘executive privilege’ here.”
“I’m toast?” Trump echoed. “You’re fired, right now!”
Sanders shook her shitty locks. “Wow! Press release?”
“That’s okay, Huck, he quit on Earth, anyhow.
I’ll announce the firing as Tweeter-in-Chief.”
“Hey, sir, I see your cronies are down here, too.”
Thus observed Pompeo, a bellicose blimp.
“Isn’t that Bolsonaro stuck in the glue?”
Next, he pointed out a bald sinner, a shrimp,
who, cursing in Russian, made deft martial moves.
“Come here, Donald! You can still be my pimp!”
Yet a third tyrant, a blocky Chinese,
gestured dismissively at the POTUS.
“Tariff Man,” said Xi Jinping, “you’re full of cheese.
Naïve beginner, you were no match for us.”
-3-
At that moment, steadying his boat, sans sail,
Charon spoke again. Though his body was charred
by hellfire, his age-old face was pale.
He sneered at Trump’s minions, “There you are,
at last! I thought you would never arrive.
Time to mete out some pain! Step up to the bar!”
“The bar?” cried Trump. “On purity, I thrived,
never defiling this temple with strong drink.”
Charon rejoined, “Self-love was what kept you high.”
Pence piped up. “You sank the Grand Old Party
by inciting that dangerous riot.
Plus, your love of junk food made you farty,
“and of self-love, even here, you still stink.”
“What!” Trump shouted. “Et tu, Mike? Then fall, Don!”
“He’s right,” quoth Ben Carson, “you still need a shrink.”
“No!” scoffed Charon. “The time for shrinks is gone.
Since you were God’s scourge for the sins of the world,
I’ll show you how scourging should really be done!”
With that, a giant, snake-like whip he unfurled.
Dictators, minions, alike felt the lash,
and dove deeper in the shit, like dolphins, curled.
“Even in the midst of a global plague,
devoid of empathy, you scrambled for cash.”
Strokes were redoubled, it was all slash and bash.
Thus, Charon taught dead sinners to behave.
-4-
As the Trump-ists tried to avoid the blows
by diving deeper into the deep shit,
their efforts provoked angry cries from below.
“Hey, guys! We were your loyal base. Is this
how you recompense us for loyalty?”
“What’d you expect,” Mnuchin sneered, “you nitwits?
Citizens of the land of the cheap and free,
you let this wealthy con man eat your lunch,
and now you must share in his insolvency.”
“Huh!” cried the people. “We hadn’t a hunch!”
At that, Trump riposted, “Et tu, too, Stevie?
Like rats, my lackeys jump ship in the crunch!
Then sink, poor Don…” (sniff, sniff) “…you’re history.”
Charon could stand no more of this. “Give o’er!
No excuses in Hell! No self-pity!
It’s time, in fact, to get on with the show.
Don’t think you can tweet your way out of this!”
Trump found he was missing his thumbs and his toes.
“Try tweeting, Boss,” piped Ms. Shutdown, “with your nose.”
He clutched his smartphone, but shit clogged the keys.
“What’s the use? Banned by SM, killed by the polls.”
Up spoke the Ed Sec. “A question, Charon, please.
This shit-ocean punishment seems familiar.
Wasn’t it the punishment for flattery
in Dante’s Eighth Circle?” “You’re a scholar,
deVos,” said Charon. “But Hell has scholars, too,
who inform me that Barr was a barrator!”
“Punishment by pun? I can still crack a few,”
cried Trump, lifting his heavy, shit-smeared face.
“Hey, Joe! Still up there bidin’ your time? You hoo!”
With that, deVos jumped into her boss’ space.
“Forget the puns! My question, again, Charon:
Can one sin be punished in two places?” -4- (cont.)
The ferryman scratched his head. “That’s a tough one.
I’ll summon Minos.” Off he flew, in a flash.
“That boatman,” scoffed Betsy, “is really dumb.
And didn’t Minos wear the ears of an ass?”
“Uh, oh, Dem Alert!” in mock-alarm cried Trump.
“Not funny,” said Rudy, “but we’ll let that pass.”
A giant appeared, with rump and balls of brass.
-5-
“Who is he that dark’neth counsel?”
he thundered (the plagiarist). ”Minos, am I!
My title is Chief Justicer of Hell.”
“On Earth,” said Trump, “that would never fly.
I nominated judges. My Senator
would swan them along. Look, he’s still by my side.”
Reaching down, the ex-Prez plucked by the fore-
lock, a bespectacled pol, lacking a chin.
“When I’d knock, Mitch here would open the door.
Remember how we rammed through Kavanaugh?”
McConnell wore a baneful, hangdog look.
“I tried, but you fell short by seventy-four,
then started the riot. In Limbo, the book
of Justice Nino did not include my name.
So here I am in Hell, by hook or by crook.”
At that, a host of sinners appeared, their fame
having gone before them: Cohen, Stone, Flynn.
“Pardons, schmardons! Down here, it’s all the same,”
cried Minos. “But we’ll sink if we take them all in.”
-6-
“Wait! Wait!!” cried Trump. “I have a solution
to your population problem. We’ll call it
‘Merde-a-Lago, The Tenth Hole.’ ‘Sin gets you in’
is our motto. We’ll offer free membership
to the first million white men who apply.
All they need do is vote GOP, then die.
The rest can rest here, too, but in the shit.”
“Re-branding time,” said Minos, “is past. Besides,
you broke your oath to uphold democracy.
I mean, to be impeached not once, but twice.
Your own resorts denied you residency.
Compared to my pads, yours were Air B & B’s.
Don’t talk of comebacks!” Biting off POTUS’ head,
he proceeded to rend the other sinful dead.
“No doubt you’ve heard the saying, ‘Eat the rich!’
Well, my solution to Hell’s population
problem is, ‘Eat every last son-of-a-bitch!’ ”
Thus did Minos solve the old problem of sin.