The Devil Is In The Detail Poem by Mervyn Graham

In the depths of Hell where shadows dance,
And flames flicker in a devilish trance,
Arrives a man with a boastful stance,
Donald Trump, seeking his eternal chance.

The Devil greets him with a grin so wide,
'Welcome, Trump, to where foul souls abide.
I offer you a choice, don't let it slide,
Pick one of three doors, where fate shall preside.'

With eagerness in his eyes so bright,
Trump listens to the Devil's plight.
Three doors stand, a curious sight,
Each holding an eternal smite.

The first reveals a familiar face,
George W. Bush, in a running race.
But Trump, with a frown, shows no embrace,
'I'm not a runner, not my grace.'

The second door unveils a swim,
Obama, in dark waters dim.
But Trump declines with a solemn hymn,
'I can't swim well, that's not my whim.'

Then comes the third, a scandalous scene,
Bill Clinton, with Ms Lewinsky, a sight obscene.
Trump's grin widens, his choice keen,
'This room suits me, know what I mean.'

The Devil chuckles, with mischief sown,
'Are you sure? There's no way to disown.'
But Trump, with confidence assured, makes it known,
'This punishment, I'll gladly own.'

And so, with a twist of fate's cruel hand,
Trump finds himself in a different land.
As Ms Lewinsky steps out, Trump takes his stand,
Bound to a fate, he can't withstand.

In Hell's domain, where souls confess,
Trump learns the weight of his own excess.
For in the end, no power can suppress,
The consequences of greed's caress.

A wee poem from a joke I just heard.