Haikus by Don,Jr.
By Will Stephen
New Yorker Magazine 2017
Slick wood and slick hair.
Striped suits,chairs,Fiji bottles.
I love cool meetings.
My name is Donald
Trump, Jr., the son of of Pres-
ident Trump. K, biatch?
A Presidents boy.
Maybe one day. President?
No. I'm apprentice.
"You're fired" I told them.
They left. My Secret Service.
In peace, I collude.
Buildings are the best.
With elevators and glass.
So cool. So cool. Chyeah.
On Election Night,
Dad hugged Jared. I was pissed.
No hug since '02.
The White House. It's real.
I thought it exploded in
"Independence Day."
A crowd cheers for Dad.
My eyes close.I guess it's
For my cute hairdo.
My dad is so smart.
"Rocket Man" "little Marco."
I'm just "Don." That's fine.
America First.
Hell yes. Badass. So baller.
I have five children.
"Kim Jong Un's a bitch.
I tell Dad that, and he nods.
"Yep." No eye contact.
Aboard Air Force One,
We are kings. On my Ipad,
I watch "Neighbors 2.
Eric is my friend.
Ivanka and Jared, too.
My dad is too---cool.
So I testified.
Who cares. My fingers were crossed.
The whole time, biatch.
Seth Rogan trolled me.
On Twitter. I'm...confused. Sad.
I love him so much.
God, I miss college.
Beer bongs. Beer pong. Every night,
I would piss my slacks.
Sometimes I miss them.
My Secret Service. Cold. Still,
At least they were there.
That little boy who
Mowed the White House lawn for Dad---
What makes him so great?
And what, pray tell, will be the 'profession' of that young male gammerstang staring awkwardly into space?
Trying to outrun a lifetime of fully paid-for humiliation.