Trump, In Verse

Kamala? I’m better-looking (also Elvis I resemble).
So much for my planned remarks, from which I once again dissemble.
There’s the message I’m supposed to give which, in the long run, bores me;
rather, I begin to pander to the crowd that still adores me.

“Stay away,” my handlers urge, “from launching personal attacks.”
But that requires discipline and focus, which my ego lacks.
Comments on her heritage and laughter? I feel I’m entitled;
therefore I’ll go after her with anger verging on unbridled.

Lewandowski’s coming back; I set store by his acumen.
He knows how I will clearly and distinctly claim to back you, then
will cut you loose once I suspect your efforts have been ineffective
as I claim the POTUS role should be bestowed, and not elective.

Anyway, let’s turn the conversation back to my allure:
I set the standard for someone who’s very mindful and demure.
But if I keep campaigning not on substance, but appearances,
I’ll soon bring into focus what precisely incoherence is.