The Whole World Is Watching Poem

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THE WHOLE WORLD IS WATCHING
(and quietly muttering: “seriously, this guy?”)

Oh Donald, dear Donald, the cameras adore,
But not for your charm—they just can't ignore
The chaos you conjure, the tantrums, the hair—
You're reality TV in full fascist flair.

The Brits sip their tea with an audible sigh,
"At least it's not our circus," they mutter, then lie.
Canadians blink, then apologize twice,
"Sorry he's loud, but his spelling ain’t nice."

Down in Brazil, they just roll their eyes,
"Been there, done that, with less orange skies."
While Aussies all shout from their sun-drenched coasts,
"Crikey, he talks like a badly made toast!"

The French simply shrug, pour another red wine,
"He is not très chic, but his tweets? A crime."
The Germans take notes, whisper “history’s taught,”
While the Swiss just keep banking like they totally forgot.

In space, the aliens debated his worth—
“Abort mission Earth, that guy runs the turf.”
And penguins in Antarctica waddled away,
"Let’s just pretend we didn’t see that today."

The name Donald’s now sinking, like Trump Steaks in oil,
Once classic, now ruined, like soil spoiled by spoil.
Baby Donnie at daycare hears kids mock the sound—
“Don’t worry,” says Teacher, “he’s not that clown.”

So here we all sit, from Iceland to Perth,
In awe and dismay at your gift for self-worth.
You claimed you were loved, and you are, in a way—
Like traffic jams, spam mail, or toothaches that stay.

Because Donald, dear Donald, if fame is your game—
Congrats! You're the meme. The myth. The shame.
And the world keeps watching—every tantrum, each lie—
Mostly to see if this season’s your final goodbye.