Donald Trump’s Strange Brain
Well the scientists held a conference and everybody came
There were Innuits from Alaska and Sufis from Bahrain
Doctors from the Peru and neurosurgeons from Ukraine
They’d all come together to discuss Donald Trump’s strange brain.
Some focussed on the medulla others on the cerebral region
Searching through the notes and x-rays for anomalies and lesion
Analysing his every word and deed for signs of some cohesion
They all were in agreement that the irregularities were legion.
There were psychologists from Greece and Austria, birds of a feather
Biochemists from Zimbabwe, even a UFO chaser named Trevor
Surgeons from Brazil and Ecuador all embarked on this endeavour
Studying the evidence in ways most deep, varied and clever
The psychologists all oohed and aahed as they studied his behaviour
You could hear them all muttering that he thought he was the saviour
According to the consensus things could not get much crazier
If he chose to warm his bum by sitting on a red hot brazier
They brought their microscopes, scanners, computers and pens
Scribbled many notes and squabbled like excited clucking hens
Exchanging all their stories with hows and whys and whens
Making their diagnosis with this and that and thens
After many days of examination Chris Rock brought them to a halt
He wanted to summarise their observations and their thought
To determine what diseases President Trump just might have caught
To see if remedies could be applied in this, their last resort.
‘Tell me you great scientists but try to keep it brief.
What have you discovered that is lurking underneath
That flapping yellow toupee that is causing us such grief
Tell me bold scientists what is your profound belief?
An eminent neurosurgeon rose to receive their great acclaim
As the spokeswoman of the whole group – the one with the most fame
She gathered up her notes and prepared to lay the blame
From her august demeanour you could see she was no lame dame
She weighed up all her words and spoke most eloquently
‘I have gathered up the conclusions from you and him and me.’
Looked at it from every angle and found we all agree
A normal brain has a hundred billion cells but we only counted three!’
I woke up in the night with a Randy Newman song floating round my head and it gave me this bit of fun.
In these days with tales coming out concerning the strange, erratic and childish behaviour of the leader of the Western World, of rear-guard actions by his staff to prevent insane decisions damaging to America and the world being carried out, of damage limitation and despair, I thought his mind might need examining.
I imagined a symposium of all the world’s great scientists brought together to address the issue.
Chris Rock seemed the obvious choice to host it.
This poem is what came out. (It might need a little more work!)