A lesson from when the ice caps have become slushies.

“The Covfefe,” a Love Song to the Paris Agreement

“The Covfefe,” a Love Song to the Paris Agreement

Dubious and far-fetched ideas.
June 9 2017 3:02 PM

The Covfefe

A love song to the Paris Agreement.

Natalie Matthews-Ramo

Natalie Matthews-Ramo

From the depths of the sea,
where Mar-a-Lago once stood,
comes the tale of Covfefe
too late understood.

I will tell you right now how I learned of this story.
It might be #fakenews; it might be allegory.

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Adrift in my boat,
I wondered aloud
why we all had to float
how no ground was allowed.

The ice caps were slushies,
the coasts undersea,
one paddled for days
never sighting a tree.

Then a voice out of nowhere
so loud I did jump
said, “I can explain,
for I am the Trump.”

“Pay me three pennies
and a chocolate cake.
And I’ll tell how I caused
this whole planet to bake.”

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I looked ’round and I saw
floating right on the ocean
some hair on a Flee-Flaw
causing quite a commotion.

The Flee-Flaw was decked out in colors atrocious.
Its captain, the speaker, was quite braggadocious.

I gave him some pennies
and two scoops of ice cream.
He started to speak
as if down through a dream:

“It all started way back ...
such a long, long time back ...

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Way back in the days when we called climate weather
and treaties and partnerships bound us together.

I was running the nation
with my Ditchery-Stitcher.
It was my creation
to make rich people richer.

Each Ditchery-Stitch
was worth brundles of gold.
But there was a glitch,
Or so I was told.

We needed more Hooples, which we could not afford
unless I withdrew from the Paris accord.

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I announced my decision, surrounded by roses.
Then I saw something strange right in front of our noses.
She shimmered and glimmered, yet was bigly defeated.
But she said something which now must be repeated.

‘Mister,’ she said, for all it was worth,
‘I am the Covfefe. I speak for the Earth.
I speak for the planet, for the planet can’t talk.
And I’m telling you that our planet’s in shock.

Waters are rising and species are waning.
You can’t live on Ditcheries if it never stops raining.’

All that she said I so deeply resented
since it meant my plans would be unpresidented.
‘Covfefe,’ I said, ‘You are boring and meek.
And last time I checked, you do not even tweet.’

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She said, ‘Heed my words, and don’t you forget it:
This thing that you’re doing, the world will regret it.’

Then she shimmered away, and I got back on track.
I stitched yet more ditcheries, but still she came back.
Her voice was now rising, her face growing red.
She used lots of big words, but the last thing she said:

‘I am the Covfefe. I speak for the planet.
The Hoople you need, we are desperate to ban it.’
She said, ‘Don’t withdraw. It’s a pact. It’s nonbinding.’
I said, ‘I’m in charge, in case you need reminding.’

She said, ‘We are many, and we will resist.’
She said, ‘We’re the future, and we will persist.’
But deep in her soul I could tell she was tired,
so I winked at the camera and told her: ‘You’re fired.’

I knew I had won, I knew this was the end.
And that’s how we got where we are, my young friend.
And now I depart, since my work here is done.”
He turned and I thought now my work has begun.

Trump shot off like a rocket
with his Flee-Flaw in tow.
But I felt in my pocket
a whisper of “No.”

So I say this to you:
You have some “No” too.
You have all the No’s.
And here’s what you can do.

Forget about Hooples and Diggery-Stitches.
The globe is our treasure, and she sure gives us riches.
And if we’re just good to her, if we let her recover
there’d be riches for all, there’d be trees to discover

The Covfefe is gone, but her “No” still rings true.
Think of her when you vote, and turn orange to blue.

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Dahna Goldstein is a concerned Canadian, and parent of a toddler, living in the United States. Follow her on Twitter.

Dahlia Lithwick writes about the courts and the law for Slate and hosts the podcast Amicus.