The Charge of the Not-So-Bright Brigade

Diane de Anda, The Charge of the Not-So-Bright Brigade

The Charge of the Not-So-Bright Brigade: Trump’s Tulsa Rally of Death

Half a brain, half a brain,
Half a brain onward,
All to the rally of Death
Strode the sick hundreds.
“Forward, Not-So-Bright Brigade!
Charge so I’ll win!” he said.
Into the rally of Death
Strode the sick hundreds.

“Forward No-So-Bright Brigade!”
Was Trump at all dismayed?
Not that supporters knew
Trump again had blundered.
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.
Into the rally of Death
Strode the sick hundreds.

Coughing to the right of them,
Coughing to the left of them
Coughing in front of them
Pestilence thundered;
Caused by his lying sell,
Blindly they strode once well
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of hell
Strode the sick hundreds.

Cheered with their faces bare,
Cheered as germs rose in air
Breathing the microbes there
Charging death’s army, while
All the world wondered.
Plunged in the viral smoke
Right then their health they broke;
Coughing percussion
Reeled from the viral stroke
Shattered and sundered.
Then they strode back, but now
Now more sick hundreds.

Coughing to the right of them,
Coughing to the left of them,
Coughing behind them
Volleyed and thundered;
Caused by his lying sell
One by one they all fell.
The virus he’d not fought well
Led to the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of hell,
All was bereft of them,
Bereft by the hundreds.

When will his glory fade?
O the wild claims he made!
All the world wondered.
Hapless the choice they made!
Hapless Not-So-Bright Brigade,
Gullible sick hundreds!

Diane de Anda
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