The Devil and Donald Trump
(with apologies to Stephen Vincent Benét)

by Dan Sullivan Jan. 27, 2017

Old Scratch showed up at the White House.
He was on the lookout for souls.
He’d heard new tenants were moving in;
At least that’s what he’d been told.
He’d been banned by the previous couple
When they moved in 8 years ago.
But he’d heard some talk the new resident
Had a weakness for silver and gold.

So what could it hurt to visit,
To pay respects perhaps.
You’d be surprised how easy you can make new friends
With just a tip of the cap.
So he showed up at the Portico
In a long black overcoat,
Let himself in through a side door
While the guard was sneaking a smoke.

He noticed the place hadn’t changed much
Since the times he’d been there before.
There were new drapes on the windows
New carpeting on the floor.
They come and they go, he thought to himself;
Such a life had no appeal
To a man of Scratch’s stature,
To a man who lived for the deal.

But business is where you find it
To a salesman on the road,
And many a soul had been gathered
In much more humble abodes.
The man at the desk looked up with a start
When Scratch walked into the room.
For a minute no words were spoken;
It was silent as any tomb.

As they took each other’s measure
In the distance a church bell pealed.
It was Scratch who broke the silence first,
“I heard you like to deal.”
After a pause came the answer,
“I buy and I sell” Donald said.
“In a crooked world it’s the only way
A man can get ahead.”

“You’re a man after my own heart,
And a deal always takes two sides.”
“Have a seat,” the Donald offered.
“I will,” Scratch replied.
“But let’s get down to cases,
Like me you’re a man of the world.
I’m not here to barter in trinkets,
In diamonds, gold or pearls.

“It’s a nice little place you have here.
I’m sure you’re proud of your home,
But why settle for this throne of yours
When there’s a whole world you could own?”
The Donald leaned back in his chair,
“And in return?” he replied.
“I was just about to get to that.
There is nothing that we have to hide.

“Do you believe in all this nonsense
That men have immortal souls?”
“I’ve never thought much about it.
But no, I don’t, I suppose.”
“That’s good,” Scratch said softly,
Not wishing to sound too keen.
“I suspect the fee I require
Is a price you’ve already gleaned.

“For in this life where fate assigns
To each of us a role,
You were born to rule the world
And I? I collect souls.
Now both of us are men who deal
And know what the market will bear.
And whether souls exist or not,
Why should either of us care?

“It’s just a little game I play,
You might call it a fantasy.
But if you want to rule the world
You’ll give your soul to me.”
Donald’s gaze was steady
As he weighed which move to make.
He’d seen suckers come and go before,
But this one took the cake.

“Draw up the papers tomorrow,” he said
“Then bring them back to me.”
Reaching into his pocket Scratch said,
“I have it here as you see.”
That should have been a tipoff
As to who was the fish on the line
Beware of the man in a hurry
To get the other fellow to sign

But the Donald was feeling his greatness,
“Slide it over here” he said.
He scanned the sheet of paper
And reached in his pocket for a pen.
In a childish scrawl he wrote down
One addendum to the pact:
“Any post hoc false claim discovered
Will void the entire contract.”

And with a grandiose sweep of his pen
He signed on the bottom line,
Then passed the paper back to Scratch,
“Now give me what’s rightfully mine.”
“And what might that be?” the Devil replied,
Sounding almost amused.
“You made a deal to give me the world.”
“No, I think you’re a little confused.”

“Then the whole thing’s off,” The Donald said,
“If you lied that voids our deal.”
“Lied?” the Devil said with a smile,
“It’s only the truth I’ve revealed.”
“You promised the world,” The Donald screamed,
“But that was no lie in fact.”
And now the Devil was laughing out loud
“That was just an alternative fact.”

“And now I’ll take my end of the deal.
I’ll take your soul here and now.
You can sue me later for all I care
But right now you’re going down.”
And then in a cloud of sulphur and smoke
The Donald faded to black.
The Lying Press was informed the next day
And told the Alternative Facts.

By agreement among the authorities
There was no formal inquest.
The funeral was held at Trump Tower
At the grieving family’s request.
And so the myth was born that day
That he died of a heart attack.
But the truth is he died as he always had lived
Destroyed by Alternative Facts.