Hey Junior!
Yeah, you.
Let’s talk about your tweets,
pointing fingers at Chealey Clinton,
screaming about her sins,
her scandals,
her crimes.
I’m not here to defend her.
She’s got her own mess.
But let’s get real
about throwing stones
from your glass tower.
Hey Junior!
Let’s talk charity.
You know,
those things that help people?
Your daddy paid two million
for stealing from his own.
Used foundation funds
for a portrait of himself,
for campaign rallies,
for settling lawsuits.
The foundation shut down,
court-supervised,
because he couldn’t be trusted
not to steal.
And you?
You’re banned from the board,
had to take classes
on how not to steal
from sick kids.
Hey Junior!
Let’s talk about
taking from the White House.
Your daddy left in January,
boxes piled high,
stuffed with documents
that weren’t his to take.
Presidential records.
They belong to us,
to the Archives,
to the nation.
Not to him.
Hey Junior!
Let’s talk documents.
Fifteen boxes
hauled to Mar-a-Lago.
Classified secrets
scattered like confetti.
Bathroom floors.
Ballroom stages.
Bedroom closets.
A chandelier
hanging over
top secret files
stacked by the shower.
On tape,
your daddy admits it:
“This is still classified.”
“I should have declassified this.”
But he didn’t.
Just grabbed them,
packed them up,
took them home
like souvenirs.
Nuclear submarine specs
shared with billionaires.
Iran attack plans
waved around at dinner.
Letters from Kim Jong Un
he called his personal property.
The Archives asked.
He refused.
They negotiated.
He stalled.
They subpoenaed.
He hid more.
Hey Junior!
Let’s talk money.
Foreign money.
Eight million dollars
flowing into daddy’s pockets
while he sat in the Oval Office.
China paid him.
Saudi Arabia paid him.
Twenty countries
lining up
to rent his rooms,
book his clubs,
buy his favor.
The Constitution says no.
Congress never approved it.
He took it anyway.
So when you tweet
about her corruption,
about her crimes,
about her hypocrisy,
remember this:
Your father made it
a felony
to mishandle classified documents.
Five years in prison.
He signed that law.
Then he broke it.
Hey Junior!
Glass houses.
Stone throwing.
You know how this ends.
Sit down.
Shut up.
Your daddy’s sins
dwarf hers
by miles.
Unsolicited
Current Events
Hypocrisy
Laura Gerling
© 2026
Laura Gerling, unsolicited Poet and educator 
Leave a comment