I hope I’m wrong,
so wrong my name becomes slang
for a tragic blunder
as in, “Custer sure pulled a Wesick
at the Little Bighorn!”
I hope jobs return to the rust belt
and displaced workers
will now buy gold-plated mansions
and endow professorships at Harvard.
I hope the new president’s tweets
scare the beards off ISIS
and that from now on all terrorists
will come with big letter T’s
tattooed on their foreheads.
I hope greenhouse gasses
bring back the black rhino
and mountain gorilla.
I hope charter schools
turn out so many 14-year-old Ph.Ds.
that the Nobel committee goes bankrupt
from awarding all the prizes.
I hope the free market
lowers the cost of heart transplants
and cancer treatment to $1.95.
I hope doctors determine cake and ice cream
make the most nutritious breakfast
and that playing video games
burns more calories than running.
I hope high school students don’t need algebra
for high-tech careers and that cheerleaders
want to sleep with guys who can’t dance.
I hope I really can earn $100,000
by working 3 hours a week from home.
I hope our new president
rekindles the American dream.
This poem previously appeared on the New Verse News website.