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.