Donald Trump Becomes a Red Hills Salamander


Donald Trump Becomes a Red Hills Salamander


My Alabama nickel-sized burrow, 

while it may not be Mar-a-Lago,

is hillside real estate, nonetheless,

moist and safe and, would you believe it, 

I hardly ever leave it. Yes, it’s 

uncharacteristic to lay so low,

but now that I’m a salamander,

I’m catching snails, avoiding snakes,

trying my best to stay alive

as the only species of my genus 

(I can’t help being one of a kind!).

I find I’m now so much more sensitive,

seeing I breathe in through my skin.

They say my presence marks an 

environment as toxic-free, something

at least more characteristic of me,

despite what you hear from Smith and Bragg

(who have no idea where I am).

It’s true I’m taking slippery

to a whole new level. Still

the future looks like an uphill battle.

My Alabama numbers were good 

 in 2016 and 2020.

But not so much in ‘77

when I was added to The List

largely due to hungry big lumber 

doing a number on my habitat. 

But, man, I still really like those guys.

I once gave them a big green light

to cut old growth across the nation

using the excuse of wildfire

mitigation to sell lots of

federal timber. Did you know

salamanders got their name 

by running out of logs on fire?

All this might come back to bite me, 

(though I can grow a brand new tail

again in just a couple of weeks!)

 if climate change fake news proves true.

Then I will be in a riot of a mess.

Even though they stole the election

it may yet turn out for the best

that Sleepy Joe now calls the shots.

In light of all the hot spots I’m in, 

he just might end up saving my skin.