Its not a BALLROOM.

[gfarber]

12. The Secret Beneath

The East Wing, they said, was a hall,
But the truth wasn’t that at all—
Beneath all the plaster,
A secret went faster—
A bunker beneath every ball.

Now Trump builds a “Ballroom” with flair,
While whispers are thick in the air.
“Don’t peek at the ground,
You won’t like what’s found—
There’s power, not parties, down there.”

A ruler who’d rather not fall,
Digs deeper beneath every wall.
“Democracy’s quaint,”
He’ll sneer with constraint,
“Down here, I make every call.”

He purged every general and clerk,
Called “disloyal” those slow to his work.
With lie tests and rage,
He cleaned out the stage—
A tyrant with Twitter for quirk.

They’re sinking small boats on command,
In waters they barely had planned.
“They’re drug lords!” he cries,
But everyone sighs—
Their compass points right to dry land.

“Elections?” he growled. “What a bore.
We’ll just have ourselves a small war.
Declare some unrest,
Suspend all the rest—
And reign till forever, or more!”

So over the bunker he’ll preen,
A ballroom all gilded and clean.
The chandeliers glow,
While few down below,
Know what the façade really means.

The music will swell and enthrall,
As dancers waltz under his thrall.
But listen for thunder—
The truth lies down under—
It was never about a ballroom at all.