Edgar Allan Poe’s Trump: A Modern Gothic Tale

Introduction

Imagine if Edgar Allan Poe were to write a poem or short story from the dead, and the subject were Donald Trump. This eerie and captivating narrative explores how Poe might capture the bizarre and looming presence of the former President in today’s digital age.

The Miserable Midterms of a Jagged Afterlife

Once upon a midterms dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,

Over many a turgid tract of USA impeachment law.

As I nodded self-defeating, suddenly there came a tweeting,

As of someone crassly bleating, bleating on my Samsung 4.

“Who is this?” I scarce could mutter, “tweeting now at half-past four?”

“’Tis a glitch and nothing more!”

Ah distinctly I remember: it was in the bleak November,

As each separate state did enter their suggestions by the score.

Long we’d all sought some conclusion to this state of sad confusion:

Allegations of collusion, threatening the rule of law.

Truman’s Mocking Mutters

Ah, that rare and radiant maiden whom romantics dub “the law”:

Threatened now forevermore.

As his mindless speeches wore on, crass yet calm this orange moron,

So they filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before:

So that now to still the churning of my bowels, I started turning

My Samsung to silent mode and scratching idly at my jaw:

“’Tis a glitch,” I blithely reasoned, scratching idly at my jaw.

“Just a glitch and nothing more”.

Presently my phone vibrated, pausing then in shock I waited:

“No,” I muttered, “Truly it can not be - no, I do implore!”

“Your constituents are sleeping and so gently you come beeping,

And so faintly you come tweeting, tweeting like some sophomore,

That I scarce am sure I heard you.” – Here, I checked my phone, unsure:

A single tweet and nothing more.

Peering into the Unknown

Deep upon that notice, peering long I sat there wondering, fearing:

Doubtless at this hour he’s being once again a reckless bore.

Is he ranting at the media? Citing lies from Wikipedia?

Is he threatening “Rocket Man” again with all-out nuclear war?

Perhaps it’s just a desperate plea: my name is POTUS, hear me roar.

This it is, and nothing more.

The Twitter Intrusion

Back towards my tract, now turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tweeting, somewhat louder than before.

Is it something about Mueller, or the son of King Abdullah?

Let me see then, what this threat is and this mystery explore!

Let me see what has aroused this time, the man’s unsleeping claw:

’Tis but hot air - nothing more!

Open here I flung the browser, went to Twitter to arouse a

Thought, an attitude, perhaps a sentiment that I might gnaw

Not the least obeisance made I, not a minute stopped or stayed I,

But with smirk I marked his visage, and the smirk his visage wore.

Perched above the page, he sat there – he’s the “real” one, he implores.

Perched and sat, and nothing more.

Truman the Irony

Then, this ivory turd beguiling, my bemusement into smiling,

By the stern but vaguely stupid countenance, his image bore.

“Though thy hair be doubtless toupée and” I said, “while doubtless you pay,”

“Not a cent in taxes – tell me: what is it you now deplore?

”What has dragged you out of bed, and onto Twitter, after 4:00?”

Quoth the raver, “Build a wall.”