Trump is so bloated
with delusive notions
of ripping off his clothes
in a telephone box
outside the Daily Planet
emerging a superhero
steely-chested
and with X-ray vision
leaping tall nations
in a single bound
so bloated that he
no longer sees his feet
in box shoes
that leak,
his clay feet
dissolving inexorably
sinking in his own swamp.
Too late he will realise,
when his belly rests
on alligators.