Ode To The Women Trump Has Targeted

Lorrance Herring
16 min readJun 29, 2020
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“I was only kidding!” said Donald Trump

while he tried to bend over and kiss my rump.

I turned around and smacked his face,

“Excuse me, sir! You’re a big disgrace!”

“But, I’m going to make America great!

I’m going to inspire racism and hate!”

I smacked him again, and said, “Sit down!

You doddering fool! You idiot clown!”

“I alone am King! I’ll kill saboteurs!”

I laughed with contempt, “You’re just ‘King of the Slurs’,

You’re King of Trump Tower, your words have such power!

But, not over me,” I said with a glower.

“But, I am your Prez! I’m your nation’s great leader!”

“Oh, you don’t understand! I’m an American Breeder.

My brood? They went missing while I went to school,

then YOU came to power, you offensive old fool!”

I looked in his eyes, and searched through his soul.

What I found deep inside was a large gaping hole.

“You do not know Jesus!” I exclaimed with authority,

“Us martyrs who do are quite the minority.”

Then Trump showed his colors, and began to call names.

He called me a horse-face, as I fanned the flames.

He called me a fat pig, a slob, and a dog.

I smiled in turn, “You mean a bitch and a hog?”

He drew a deep breath, “Let me try a bit harder!”

He searched for more words from his vocabulary larder.

Trump said I was crazed, he called me a low-life.

He called me a bimbo, (Gee, I thought that described his wife!).

He said he saw blood spurt from my eyes,

from my nose, and my ears, and continued his lies.

“You’re no longer a 10,” he said with a smile.

“You’re words can’t hurt me, ’cause I think you are vile!”

Trump tried to stand up, I smacked him once more.

“Just sit a bit longer, for I have the floor!

Call me more names, ’cause I like this game.

I’m Queen of ALL cuss words and I have NO Shame!”

He called me Miss Housekeeping, and also Miss Piggy,

Though back in the day, I looked more like Ms. Twiggy.

I thanked him quite nicely, “Why, yes, I keep house!

And, so did my mother, you pompous old louse!”

He said I was nasty, both outside and in.

“Have you looked at yourself? You are riddled with sin!

It seems you have liberty to twitter and tweet

words that aren’t nice, and words that aren’t sweet!”

“Well, I am the Don! God’s gift to mankind!”

I told him to stand and I smacked his behind.

“Now, sit down! Let me tell you, your women are twats;

they’re slatterns, and sluts!” I took more pot-shots.

Trump’s face turned all red, he loosened his tie.

His butt-lips? They trembled as I gave him the eye.

“Your face needs a lift, but you’re probably poor!”

He tried once again, as I asked him for more.

“Well, I’m not a gold-digger, you dirty old fart!

I’m richer in words, and I have a heart.

I’m wealthy in ways that you’ll never know!

So give me your best! Let’s go blow for blow!”

He called my I.Q. as low as could be,

While my G.P.A was 4.03!

He said I was lazy, and out of a job.

“You’re right. I’m a poet, you ignorant snob!

I’ve a black-belt in writing, I’ll cut you to pieces.

If you don’t believe me, just ask my nieces!

Just ask my siblings, and ask my professors,

my friends, and my husbands…and all my oppressors!”

I showed him the pictures from all of my life,

of being enslaved as a dictator’s wife.

“Give me your finest!” I cried out in rage.

“I’ve been raped by the best, in real life and on stage!”

He looked in my eyes, and nothing was there

but FEMALE pride as I gave him a glare.

“Yes, I’m a white woman, a red-headed witch,

I’ve already been called a plague and a bitch!

I’ve already been called a slut and a whore,

A Sunday School teacher…while I worked at a store.

I’ve worked as a checker, and I’ll check you out!

I’ll peck on your pecker and then I will shout:

‘My God! It’s a worm! He might have E.D.!

How old is Trump now? Is he 73?’”

Trump’s mouth? It hung open, his fists clenched with ire.

While I said, “C’mon, man, add some fuel to my fire!”

He said I was shit and so, I said, “Sure!

I fart like an elephant, but I can endure

abuse for my children, who’s father’s like you!

With a mafioso mentality, while I’m like a Jew.

I’m just like Madonna, I’m just like her Son.

I’ve a martyr’s mentality because I am the one

sent from my Father, the one in the sky!

I’m an agent of his: his very own spy.”

Trump searched for some words, he searched long and hard.

“Do you want to give up? You know I’m a bard!

I’m a mother of many, and my words drip with acid.

My rights were destroyed while I’ve tried to stay placid.”

“You’re ugly! You’re ugly! You’re old and worn out!

Go away! Go away!” Trump started to shout.

“Oh, no, my dear Donald. I think I will stay

and just hold you hostage ’cause I like to play!”

I asked him if he might need a cold drink

of water derived from my kitchen sink.

“Why thank you, I would! For I’m feeling quite parched,”

he replied looking shocked. My right eyebrow arched.

I went to the cupboard and took out a glass.

I filled it with water, and then with some class,

I walked back to where Trump was waiting for me

and handed it over with great dignity.

“I once had some water thrown into my face,

but I believe that I handled that one with much grace.”

“What did you do in response to that joke?”

“I spit in his water.”… Trump started to choke.

“Don’t worry, it’s clean. I don’t have typhoid fever.

Remember, I love you ’cause I’m a believer!

What did I do to that man who was mean?

I kept my composure and started to clean.

I cleaned up the kitchen, ‘til he fell asleep,

then I filled a big bowl, it was so nice and deep!

The water that filled up that bowl was so cold,

and I am a woman who is known to be bold.

So, I walked in the bedroom and dumped it on him.

He woke up in terror, ‘cause he couldn’t swim.

Then, I taught him to swim, so he wouldn’t drown.

I’m the Queen of the waters, have you seen my crown?”

Trump looked at my head and what did he see?

A crystal clear crown that my Father gave me.

“Now shall we resume our name calling game?

You notorious morologist of insufferable fame!

I can ballywag with you, for you can’t hurt my ass!

You can’t hurt my position. I’m ahead of my class!

I’m so far ahead, I’ve left them behind.

While some cower to you, I’m now out of my mind.

I write horror stories where I kill perpetrators;

where I kill all the rapists and all the dictators.

I kill all the lawyers; I kill all the liars;

I kill all the popes, and I kill all the friars.

I kill white traditionalists who threaten my life.

I even kill God, because I’m God’s own wife.

I kill him and eat him; I throw a great feast

‘cause I am his servant, the least of the least.

But, I don’t kill my brother, my groom, or my bride.

I don’t kill Lord Jesus because he has died

for my sisters, my daughters, my sons, and my friends:

for all of us sinners who know how it ends.”

Trump finished his water, then he huffed and he puffed.

He frowned like a turtle; like a shirt he looked stuffed.

“You cannot kill God! You cannot kill him!

You just can’t kill God in a dream or a whim!”

“Oh, really?” I asked Trump, “And, what do you know?

My degree is in writing, so let’s get on with my show!

Now, take off your shirt and take off your pants!

You’re about to be targeted by one of my rants!”

Trump took off his pants and he took off his shirt.

I shielded my eyes; what I saw made them hurt.

“Ewe! Gross! That’s disgusting! It matches your mug!

Too much McDonald’s you pot-bellied thug!

Look at that stomach! You’re wrinkled and old.

I don’t care if you shit in a toilet of gold!

I don’t care if you think you can judge women’s worth.

You’re in danger of hell from the day of your birth!

God gave me a message to deliver to you:

God is a Goddess, and God is a Jew;

God is an African whose hair is in dreds,

God’s blood pumps in purple, not whites, blues and reds!

God is a warrior, and God is a teacher,

(a teacher like me), and God is a preacher!

God is a child who sometimes gets mad.

God is a Mother, not just a dad!

God’s from the ocean; she’s just like Poseidon.

God is a democrat, just not like Joe Biden.

Trump, you are falling! You’re too full of pride.

You’re full of yourself and there’s nowhere to hide.

You’ve done enough damage to women like me.

And, men just like you are in my family tree.

So, I know a narcissist when a spirit I test.

And Trump, you’re right up there along with the rest!”

“But, I’m Trump! I’m the Savior of this great big nation!

I love all the good guys!” he said with frustration,

“I’ll drain out the swamps, I’ll drain out their money.

I’ll make all America flow with pure milk and honey!

I’ll blame all our problems on mothers like you!

I’ll threaten to kill you, if you don’t love me, too!

I’ll threaten to kill you, if you don’t cite your sources!

I’m Trump! I can say you have faces like horses!

I’m Trump! It’s a race, I’m a rat and I’m winning!

I’m winning the rat race, I’m winning at sinning!

I’ll say what I want, even if it’s offensive.

I’ve dug myself deep; I’m now on the defensive!

I’ll say life’s a joke, while people are dying

from ‘Kung-flu’ Corona, ‘cause China is lying!

I’m all about money! I’m all about Trump!

I can grab at your pussy, your tits, or your rump!”

“Oh, no, you’re the Swamp Monster, and I’ve been too trained

to battle the enemy, because I’ve been too drained.

Drained of my money, and drained of my wealth,

and all I have left is my talent and health.

Drained of my children, drained of my roles,

screwed in my orifices while I dug my own holes!

So, while you disrespect the office of Presidency

I am in shock, hunkered down in my residency.

I’m free in my home to do as I may.

I’m free in my head to let my thoughts stray.

For I’ve been de-ranged! I’m set free from my kitchen

So, sit for awhile, ’cause I’m not finished bitchin’!

While you are a porker, I’m poor and abused.

Used as a scapegoat, while you look amused.

You grin like a cat who swallowed a bird,

While I think you look like you’re pushing a turd!”

Trump squirmed in his chair, as he looked well surprised.

I leaned forward, saw nothing, he was hardly chastised.

“You’re a nasty old woman! Don’t watch me like that!”

I smiled quite serenely and picked up my cat.

“Do you like my pussy? You dirty old quisling?

Well, I won’t let you touch her! She’s hot and she’s sizzling!

I should quiz you on pussies, and quiz you on rabbits,

quiz you on history, on diseases and habits!”

“I’ll inject you with Lysol! If you don’t stop this poem!

I just want you to let me run back to my home!

I’m scared of your power to take off my clothes

I can’t stand the way you look down your nose!”

“Well, I’m a reporter… and I have a scoop,

a slant that’s unique, a plot with a loop.

I’m a shrivel of critics, I can cut you to size!

In fact, where’re my scissors? I like red silk ties!”

I retrieved my good scissors; I’d had them for years

from when I made quilts, before all the smears.

I cut off his tie, and I cut up his shirt.

I cut up his pants cause my dignity’s been hurt.

I cut off his undies and I took off his shoes

I took off his socks and I said, “Hey, I’ve good news!

Since I am a mother, and I’m sure not a killer,

I think I will teach you to dance to ‘The Thriller’!

We all dress like zombies and then we raise money

by doing flash dances, whether rainy or sunny!

We’d sure like donations, ‘cause we have a problem

the homeless need houses, and you, sir, could solve ‘em!”

“I don’t dance,” said the Don. “I don’t dance,” said the Trumpster.

“Besides,” said the monster, “They can live in a dumpster!

They’re all low-life druggies, they got what they deserve.

They should all go get jobs! It’s my people I serve!”

“Your people?” I walked to the living room door.

I looked out the window. It was starting to pour.

‘They have PTSD, they’ve been traumatized,

they have mental disorders, they’re all compromised!

I’ve reached out to help them, they’re hurt and they’re scared.

Would you like to meet some? I thought that you cared!

Some have been soldiers, they sure served their time

and now they feel lucky if they’re given a dime!”

I told him of Satan, and his time spent with me,

a confused little man who’s now 33.

The father of Jesus, and not from this world,

how I weathered his fury while his fears all unfurled.

I mentioned his sweetheart, a Japanese warrior.

Her time on the streets were riddled with horror.

“How hard for some people to get off of the streets

when they’re stripped of their safety, while the world reads your tweets!

You golf with elitists, you call in the Guard.

You sling around mud, while your heart? It is hard!

You won’t wear a mask, or set an example!

Would you like a brownie? I can give you a sample.”

“Alright,” said The Man, “I could sure use a snack.”

“Great! I’ll go get some. In a snap, I’ll be back.”

I brought in a plate piled high with some eats.

“Their organic and healthy, my chocolaty treats!”

Trump took one and said, “My God! These are yummy!”

“Why thank you, and please, just fill up your tummy.

To feed the birds is to be a host to God,

and you look like a turkey with a chicken-legged bod!

Now let’s talk about issues like housing the poor,

the hurting and suffering, the ones who need more

education, and income, medical and dental,

because some have some issues, and most are just mental!”

“But America should know I must always look good!

Just keep them at bay and out of my hood!”

“Don’t worry,” I told him, “They’d scare you to hell!”

I lowered my voice and then began to tell:

“Living with Satan for eight months in all

opened my eyes to my ministering call.

Of cannibalism, he said he was not opposed,

so comedy helped me; he was joking!” I proposed.

“He and his sweetie were an interesting pair.

They’re still in my community; I just don’t know where.

But, I worry because they are both God’s creation,

and part of what makes up our interesting nation!

I learned how to love them, and I learned how to care.

I listened to stories that raised my neck hair.

I had to out-evil, while my actions spoke love

for I was commissioned by the one from above.”

Trump sat there all naked, so blind, and so poor.

I considered his spirit and just saw a whore.

“Trump! You’re disgraceful! And, I thought I was bad!

But you say things that sound like my children’s own dad!

Why do you think I can take on your power,

and chew out your ass from my own book-lined bower?

‘Cause I’m a researcher, a jester of sorts!

I’ve researched your kind, and all your cohorts.

I’ve researched the Bible; I’ve read Shakespeare as well.

I’ve read Dante’s ‘Inferno’ as I went through some hell.

And, now I’m a hellion, a rebel for God…

I call out hypocrisy, and my feet? They are shod!

My boots are for walking, and that’s what I do!

I’m calling out bullshit from people like you!

I’m a self-sadomasochist, I can put myself down,

and get up on stage like an intelligent clown.”

Trump looked at his penis, it hung soft and limp.

“Trump! You’re not more than a self-centered gimp!”

He looked so ashamed as I tore into him.

“You think that I haven’t been called words like ‘quim’?

You probably don’t know that word is legit.

You probably only know ‘cunt,’ ‘ho,’ and ‘clit’!

You’re grandmother’s ‘quaint’, just like your own lady

even if she’s a gold-digger who’s speeches are shady.

I’m no longer a victim, no longer a villain. I just am that I am.

I’m a warrior writer, a rogue, a lone wolf. I’m better than Uncle Sam!

I’m better than Donald, I’m better than Robert, I’m better than my own dad.

I’m better than Clara, I’m better than Mindy, now that I’m stark-raving mad!”

Trump started to look like a pitiful fellow.

His hair? It looked orange and his belly looked yellow.

His hands began shaking; I saw his knees knock.

I glanced at the wall and looked at the clock.

“We still have more time to continue this sport.

In fact, we can do this ’til we both come up short!

I can strip you down naked whenever I choose,

’cause frankly my dear, what can I lose?

I can sit on my laurels, and write up a storm

‘bout the men I could kill, but reduced to a worm.

Forgiving my enemies is a mountain of work,

especially the ones who act like a jerk!

For I’ve been objectified by men who are ‘Great’,

they’re ‘Christians’ who just love the women they hate:

the women who served them, the women they fear,

who expose all their issues while they lie and drink beer.

So, now I am angry, and no, I’m not ‘Rich’.

I can babysit anyone since I’m a good witch.

I can play games like hangman and spell out “asshole”

in front of my children as I play a role.

The role of a vice cop, the role of dictator:

a passive/aggressive game generator!

It’s one of my tools as I play with the takers

like butchers, and bakers, and candlestick makers.

For I’ve been extorted and I, too, have been slandered

by a rapist who cheated as he went and philandered.

By this time in life I should own my whole state,

for Oregon taught me how to communicate:

Perfect LOVE casts out fear! And, I’m a perfect lover!

Married to a dictator, and now I just hover!

I hover around in the shadows and dark,

while I write out the truth, even if it is stark.”

Trump looked old and tired, as he slumped in the chair.

“The truth? You said truth?” He just had a blank stare.

“And what is the truth? You think that you know it?

If you do, then just tell me, or least can you show it?”

“Sure I can, Trump! I can show it to you…

And, you surely won’t like it, but, it’s just what I do.

You’re a big, fat, rich, baby…and you think you are hot.

But, I can assure you, my man, you are definitely NOT!

We’re all born then we dash to our death, that’s the truth!

What happens between is figured out by a sleuth.

Some women are told to shut up and be silent.

Some women snap, and do drugs, and get violent.”

I told him of Hope. A woman who’s sweet.

Who’s case was tossed out as her feet hit the street.

She went from a mom, right down to a zero.

But she just needs some justice. She just needs a hero.

“Some women write; what they write, it goes viral.

And some women write when they’re starting to spiral

out of control, as their satire gets droll,

and they feel like they’re dead as they begin to extol!”

Trump started to slide and he started to slouch.

I thought to myself, “What a lump and a grouch;

what an insecure baby who just needs a nap!”

As I continued to enjoy hosting Trump in a trap.

“Trump! You wake up! It’s not time for sleep!

I’m just getting going! And, I want to go deep!

Deep in your sole where I’m just getting started

because you’re a fool who is hard, and hard-hearted!”

Then Trump, on his rump, he let out some gas

he leaned over left, and it passed from his ass.

“Do you smell that?” he asked. “Can we lift up our noses?

I think it smells sweet, just like rainbows and roses!”

“Oh my God! Trump! It stinks just like rotten cheese!

Do you have any manners? Like, ‘pardon me, please?’

Where is your dignity? Where’s your grandeur?

Your butt-ugly face is hard enough to endure!”

I opened a window to let in some fresh air.

“Oh, no you don’t, Mister! Just sit in that chair!”

I knew what he thought before he had thunk it.

But this was a test, and he’d better not flunk it!

“Trump! I like tests, and I am a tester!

Have you ever been humbled, you woman molester?”

Trump looked at his hands; I saw they were small.

I looked at poor Trump as he started to fall.

“No you don’t! No you don’t! Sit up and sit straight!

You’re not keeling over ‘til you eat that whole plate!

Those brownies? They are my special recipe…

Don’t worry, you’ll live, but when you have to pee,

you won’t pass the test, and we’ll call in the Feds.

We’ll talk about laws and we’ll talk about meds!

We’’l talk of dementia, we’ll talk about sex!

And, then I will call in my good friend named Rex!

Rex doesn’t like you, and neither do I!”

Poor Donald Trump! He started to cry.

“Why don’t you like me! Why not love me?”

“Well, you’re riddled with issues and gross bigotry!

You flip and you flop, you pander to Putin.

You look like you ate just way too much gluten!

You look like you bit off a big chunk to chew;

And, leaders like you are men we eschew!

‘Impeach that mother-fucker!’ Is what we like to say!

‘Impeach that mother-fucker! Make him just go away!’”

I watched Trump’s face just crumble, I watched him in that chair.

I held my head up high, and I stroked my red-hot hair.

“You know I will not hurt you. You know I’m just a bard!

You know I think you’re not much more than a dangerous Trump card!

The Trump card? It was played while in a game of poker.

And me? I’m not much more than the Queen, who is a joker!”



Lorrance Herring

Oregon born, Bardass Poet, Bat-Shit Crazy Stand-Up Comedian, Entertaining Social Activist, Mamadadaist Artist of 8 kids, Weirdo Wonder Woman, Narc Researcher