The Death Dealer
A poem about the POTUS and COVID-19
In the span of 7 months, over 220,000 fellow Americans have died. It's over 1 million across the globe. As of July, the United States had 25 percent of all the COVID 19 cases globally but only 4 percent of the world’s population.
However, the president continues to strut across the thousands of dead bodies on his watch. He has lied and denied science for months when in fact, he told Bob Woodward COVID was deadly.
On purpose, he played down the pandemic while families buried, in some cases, multiple family members. Some lost both parents while others watched from afar as a husband or wife died alone in a cold hospital.
For months the CDC predicted a dark winter. Health systems across the nation are becoming overwhelmed again. Doctors and nurses are begging people to wear masks and social distance, but pandemic fatigue is real.
President Trump doesn’t help when he holds a super spreader event at the White House. Over two dozen attendees become infected, including the president. Does he take it seriously? No. Instead, he rides around the hospital like an infected circus clown. Does he care about his secret service? Does he think about their families and the repercussions of his antics? I say no, he doesn’t.
The Super Spreader and Chief strolls out of the hospital with a smile. Furthermore, he walks out to the White House balcony takes off his mask for a photo op. He says, don’t let it control your life and that you can beat this.
Trump is devoid of empathy. Covid-19 has controlled the life force of over 200,000 people. Families will have an empty place at the table this holiday season. A mother, father, grandpa, grandma, brother, or sister was taken by an invisible murderer. A murderer, Donald J. Trump, gave free rein too.
It’s an insult to each American when he organizes maskless rallies with no social distance. Thousands of supporters screaming and chanting with no regard for infection of themselves or anyone in their household.
Nothing is worth my health, and Trump definitely is not a person I am willing to die for, even if I did support his re-election.
The president is a snake oil salesman, and his lies are proven deadly. His elixir is as false as the charlatans of the old west, and I can’t believe that millions of Americans are still drinking his poison.
We are in a state of emergency in this county, and as coffins are laid in graves, the president mocks Dr. Fauci. He accuses his top doctor of being an idiot who continues to warn of winter surge as the flu season begins to take hold.
Our president deals in death, and if we don’t remove him from office thru the power of the vote, even more, will die in 2021.
I wrote a poem below that illustrates how death rules Pennsylvania Avenue.
You deal in death Lies quench lives As you smile and posture Over graves dug by untruths
The words from your lips Dangerous and ugly Dark and unfeeling Leading sheep to slaughter Burying in golden coffins As children go unfed
A silent beast stalks humanity As you stand in a floral garden Spewing falsehoods In front the house slaves built Macbeth like blood stains your hands As you assassinate innocents
Smiling clown As the world burns down Dancing an ugly dance As humans weep in hands The oval bathes in crimson As people needlessly die
We pray for life to prevail Defeat the viral monster With love and compassion It’s our mission to lock together And become the vaccine To protect our fellow man
Estacious(Charles White) is a 23-year educator. He began writing over 25 years ago. His work experience encompasses managing schools and teaching a variety of subjects. His passions are poetry, short fiction, playwrighting, and non-fiction. He won one of six prizes in the Rockford play festival for his play “Incarcerated Christmas.” He is married with three children and a native of New Orleans. Email: [email protected]