I flew on a jet to the African continent;
Sat for an interview, everyone wanted it.
I gave my OK; there were no pre-conditions,
So viewers were hopeful they’d learn my positions.
An hour went by, yet it seemed like a week.
My answers were vague, lending to my mystique.
Do I love my husband? I said we were “fine” –
A trend less toward hostile, but more toward benign.
I said I was part of a group quite elite:
The people most bullied on earth – some by tweet.
Of course, my dear husband’s a known cyberbully
The irony of which I don’t seem to get fully.
I said of those families with kids separated
That I’d been blindsided; the word came belated.
So-called “chain migration” I view through a mother’s eyes;
Of course, as you know – my dear husband feels otherwise.
And then I was asked why I wore that one jacket:
“I REALLY DON’T CARE. DO U?” scrawled on the back. It
Was worn to take aim at the media left-wing.
A fashion faux pas, but I found it a deft zing.
Along with that jacket, I’m not at all sorry that
While traipsing along I put on a safari hat.
I found myself, while on this continent, well met
And showed my respect: head adorned with pith helmet.
And then came the time for the big question’s turn:
Has your husband cheated? “It is not concern.”
People and media sure like to speculate…
But I’m his First Lady as long as he’s head of state.
One hour later, and I’m still a riddle
That’s wrapped in a mystery; you learned very little.
But subtext is everything: you may have reckoned
I married for money, and love came in second.