Read our current issue, below. Read Light‘s poems of the week
by Edmund Conti
Twitter, twitter, little Don.
How I wonder what you’re on.
Up so early in the a.m.
Little tweets and lots of mayhem.
by David Hedges
No politician in the world
Has suffered slings and arrows hurled
With such ferocity by foes
On mainstream network TV shows.
No pol in all the universe
Has suffered under such a curse,
From pre-reality Big Bang
To post-Obama sturm und drang.
No politician — no, not one! —
Has been so thoroughly undone,
So flattened like a plate of peas,
And that’s including Socrates.
by Mae Scanlan
Though I am not a Spicer fan,
For once I’m on his side;
The man was near the Vatican,
Whereat he was denied
A longed-for meeting with the Pope
(He is, I hear, devout),
But higher powers-that-be said nope,
And shut poor Spicey out.
Other members of the staff
Obtained the chance to meet
The pontiff; share a prayer or laugh
Within the holy seat.
The Vatican’s a spacious place;
I’m sure Trump could have squeezed
Sean in to gain some papal grace;
I doubt that God is pleased.
by Rosemarie Keenan
When I was young
(ten years, six months, some days)
And my heart was an open book
eager for danger and love,
I used to say live and let live
and snuck into movies my mom disapproved of
and fell for a man:
But when this ever-changing world in which we’re living—
no room for a Bond with a quip on his lips—
Makes me give in and cry,
I raise a glass,
Says POTUS on landing in Saudi:
“Their womenfolk look awful dowdy.
We’re down on head-chopping
but hear there’s great shopping,
so we’ll swing by the King and say howdy!”