How can you tell
when your little ones
are all grown up?
Maybe it's when your daughter
sits in your place
at the G20 Summit
or when your son
is contacted by one of your former business partners
bearing information he received
from a Russian government official
and in response
enthusiastically agrees to meet with
Kremlin-connected lawyer
Natalia Veselnitskaya
and to bring with him
your then-campaign manager Paul Manafort
and your current-son-in-law Jared Kushner
in order to do his darndest
to scrounge up
from an enemy government
whatever dirt he can
about your political opponent.
Meanwhile another son
is embarking on his own path
by Tweeting that Democrats
are "not even people"
and being the proud owner
of a foundation
that has funneled donations
from contributors
who believed they were
helping kids with cancer
to organizations
with ties to the Trump family.
And your other son
is playing with relatable fidget spinners
and is too small right now
to do much of anything
but worry about Kathy Griffin
but who thankfully nonetheless
is continuously learning appropriate behavior
from you.
This poem © 2017 Emily Cooper.
