With apologies to Emma Lazarus
Just like the brazen ass of Texan fame
With chiseled face broadcast across the land,
Here at our southern border gates shall stand
With border guards be-pistoled, in his name
Hater of exiles! From his ambitious flame
Glows unwelcome spite; his air-brushed looks command
The hate-filled folks who represent his brand
And hang on to his words so often lame.
"Keep out, brown-skinned peoples, your refugees,"
Cries he through sleazy lips. "Keep your poor,
Your tired, your children yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Shun these, the homeless, tempest-tost from me!
I point my finger at those whom I abhor."