There’s a global prize for peace
A noble prize some say at least
Although Alfred’s better known for dynamite
Every year, he gets a wash
With prizes funded by his dosh
To put the blowing people up a bit right
“I want it,” Donald roars
“I’ve ended maybe eight wars”
“And FIFA made one specially for me”
Like he can invade Venezuela
And just pick the prize up later
Kissinger got one, after all, in ‘73
But the committee, I suppose
(Although no one really knows)
Won’t succumb to Donny’s bribery or threats
But if this poem is a clue
That there’s a prize for poets too
Neither of us, I suspect, is worth your bets
