Tariffs, darling of the day, the month, the every year
They are Trump’s public way to punish countries far and near
It makes them pay the tariff just to trade with Uncle Sam
And if they like it not, Tump doesn’t give a good goddamn
Of course that’s not the way that tariffs really operate
They clearly are a tax on us; of that there’s really no debate
So why are countries threatened such that they’ll negotiate
It’s competition wanted not. Their prices soaring out of date
This leverage is to Trump’s advantage. He applies it as a threat
Do his bidding or he’ll raise your tariffs higher, higher yet
Apparently, so far it’s worked; the target countries caused to fret
And Trump, meanwhile, his face a smirk; he’ll take whatever he can get
Whether Trump is cognizant how tariffs work, it matters not
He does his thing. It works for him and puts his targets on the spot
And he’ll continue, while it works. There is no reason he should stop
And tariffs will continue as though day, month, year they’re hot
11/7/2025
Dear Dad, your verses slice so clean,
Through bluster, pride, and grand machine.
You catch the swagger, catch the spin—
The showman’s game, the chaos within.
A tariff’s tax, as you make plain,
Comes home to roost through higher pain.
We pay it here, not “them out there,”
Yet cheers still rise through empty air.
It’s theater more than fiscal art,
A bluff that plays on fear and heart.
The crowd applauds the muscle shown,
While markets mutter, “we’ve been thrown.”
Still, power’s mask fits snug and tight,
And logic yields to soundbite might.
Your poem reminds, in steady tone,
That truth persists when myths have flown.
So cheers to you—your meter keen,
Your insight sharp, your rhyme serene.
For in your lines, the fog turns clear,
And reason whispers, “Dad was here.”