Narrated by Val Cole

POEM:

What should we make of a country that takes
Donald Trump as its leader
a second time?
The first time could be seen as an unplanned marriage –
that pounding head waking up the morning after in Vegas
married to the wedding singer moment.
But the second time? Knowing what’s passed between you?
After finally getting the chance to raise your unheard voice –
who would make this choice?
They know he won’t change but they’ve missed the wild swings of their Toddler King.
Apparently.

Oh, imagine Donald Trump the toddler.
No, not the grown man behaving badly but the real boy
small and stumbling and awkward, the occasional bump on his knees when he fell
counting on others to teach him how to share his toys
how to keep breathing when the focus shifted from here to there.
Someone should have shown him how to win and how to lose – with grace,
should have lit up at his delight, that smile on his little face.
Maybe someone did. But the unquenchable thirst to be first
came from somewhere and I can see past those burned down places in his heart
to that small boy still not sure of his worth.

And now? He crashes through the world like a dime store King Kong
poorly manufactured and smelling like fear
to all who come near him;
climbing his way to the tops of tall buildings
with pulleys and strings and ropes and things
hoping no one will notice he’s plastic and broken
and made mainly in Moscow.

He’s not content to simply be President of those United States,
to fix all that’s been broken with each word that’s spoken. It’s not enough.
He wants more. He starts with his nose pressed close
against the window of the Oval Office –
not even President yet, he proposes Canada be the 51st state,
supposes Greenland can be his with a cheque (payable at a later date)
and demands that the Panama Canal be returned – to him.
I imagine him stamping his tiny feet
as he wanders down empty and echoing marbled halls
chased by the unpaid debt of promises unmet at home
before he throws his sprawling ambition
against everybody else’s walls.

Canada won’t riot when the Toddler King calls our Prime Minister
the Governor of the 51st state. We’ll stay quiet.
But Greenland’s tied to Denmark and the Danes won’t play
the toddler’s game. They don’t ignore him or redirect him.
They firmly decline his offer and a biting satirical claim makes the rounds
in their name:
Why doesn’t Denmark run the States
if the job is too much for him to handle,
why don’t they create world-class education
and health care without corruption or scandal?
Under their cool and steady hands, the satirist reassures us
in a social media post
the country could be transformed from an empty mass of land
into a great nation. Again. He hopes.

The real Danes have a storied history of pushing
their Viking longboats out into the nearest sea
when the tides are right
reaching boldly towards their goals even if it means they have to fight.
These modern-day Danes aren’t looking for trouble,
don’t joke about conquering their friends
but, like all reasonable folks, they look for fire
every time they smell smoke.

Some people treat the Toddler King’s extra-territorial posturing as humour.
Can’t you take a joke? they say grimly
but nobody is laughing. Nobody dares smile.
Even Canada speaks up –
Isn’t customarily sorry after a while.
United for once from rural to urban
we give up on our neighbourly ties one by one
starting with Kentucky bourbon.

My mind wrestles me from sleep most nights
eyes still burning from the shock
of my latest social media feeds I lie
wide awake and wondering
If it’s too late to turn back the clock
so that Donald Trump the man
could let Donald Trump the boy
out of his frozen ice castle to play
before the Danes release their Vikings
and the next Great Age of Invasion is on its way?