The Impeachment of Macbeth

Edward Belfar

Treasonous dogs all,

They rise against me:

Kent, Taylor, the miner’s daughter, Hill;

Morrison, Volker, and Vindman,

Who in dress uniform

Cloaks his disloyalty;

The she-devil Yovanovitch,

Who rages against me

And suffers not my portrait

To hang in its rightful place;  

Even Sondland, erstwhile friend,

Whom now I hardly know,

Once eager to act at my direction,

Bears tales of quid pro quo.

I want nothing.

I want nothing.

I want no quid pro quo.

Just a favor from Zelensky,

In return for which,

If I am in the giving vein

When he calls upon me,

I may grant him audience

In that venerable Oval that I, 

The Chosen One, 

Blessed by Franklin Graham,

Have sanctified by my presence. 

But the failing New York Times,

The Amazon Washington Post,

And Blitzer and Maddow 

And Tapper and Tur

Malign and defame me,

Call me boorish and corrupt.

And who doth defend me?

Three stooges merely:

One an Ohio congressman,

A braying ass, 

Full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.

The second, a dolt from the west,

A pretend dairy farmer

Who, crying libel, 

Sued an imaginary cow.

The third, the worst of them all,

A sniveling, bootlicker from Carolina

A serviceable villain, 

Who sells his loyalty cheap

As a strumpet on a shithole street.

All three pay me counterfeit obeisance, 

While minding but their own advancement.

They strut and fret their hour on Fox,   

Goading the rabble to a frothing distemper,

But in the halls of the Capitol,

When some fake newsmonger,

With microphone in hand,

Dares them to defend my honour,

They scuttle to the nearest elevator

And then are heard no more.

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