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There once was a mogul so grand,
Folks asked, “Is he taking commands?”
If Moscow’s his boss,
At what added cost
Would he change how he runs Uncle Sam’s?

If wrecking the economy’s aim,
Trump’s playing the role with great fame:
With borders shut tight,
Growth loses its bite—
A third slower’s the macroeconomic game.

He thundered, “I know how to grow!”
(Though graphs softly whispered, “Uh… no.”)
Immigrants gone,
The labor force wanes,
But confidence’s never been low.

Now Powell, the Fed chair, demure,
Found threats he could no longer endure.
“Indictment?” he said,
“That’s politics, not Fed—
These pretexts just don’t quite obscure.”

“It’s not bricks or budgets or leaks,
Or testimony given in weeks.
This pressure’s designed
To bully the kind
Of policy driven by facts, not by shrieks.”

The markets responded in fright:
Gold shot to a record-high height.
The dollar slid fast,
As investors, aghast,
Cried “Sell America!” well before night.

Stocks dipped and the bond yields went strange,
As traders priced chaos and change.
If threats rule the Fed,
Then evidence’s dead—
And rates won’t obey on command or exchange.

Yet fear not! For we’re told with a grin,
No one knows how these levers all spin.
If wisdom were noise,
And bluster a choice,
Then Trump is the master we’re in.