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A President typed in a fury,
Declaring his loyalist jury.
Controllers, he warned,
If absent or scorned,
Would be “replaced” in a Patriot hurry.

He promised ten grand on the spot,
To “Patriots” who’d never forgot
That shutdowns are fake,
A “hoax” they should shake—
If they’d work without pay (quite a lot!).

At airports from Boston to Phoenix,
Fatigue spread like budgetary Kleenex.
Short-staffed and unpaid,
The system decayed—
Yet tweets kept supplying the remix.

Said Duffy: “They’re hungry, you see—
They’re feeding their kids, not the T-R-A-C.”
But logic and need
Could not supersede
A Truth Social tirade at three.

Said Daniels, “We’re flying the planes,
While juggling mortgages, bills, and refrains.
We’re not just some pawn
To tweet anger upon—
We’re humans with stress in our veins.”

So while Donald typed, fiery and grand,
About patriots saving the land,
The towers stood tall,
Though weary of all—
Still guiding each flight to its stand.