Concession to my Colleague

I know that you will win in time;
the rising sewage lifts all slime.

—A.M. Juster

A Paean to Extruded Food

Oh, how I love extruded food!—
shrimp that are minced and then combined
with substances that hold them glued
in perfect curls that fool the mind;
onions ground up and mixed with paste,
squirted and fried in flawless O’s
remotely oniony in taste;
pressurized cheese that smoothly flows
in piping from a metal can,
a cheese with which to write one’s name,
which tastes like no cheese known to man,
shelf-stable, constantly the same.
O triumphs of modernity,
you foodstuffs of eternity!

—Susan McLean

The Purple Calf
pace Gelett Burgess

I tried to milk a purple calf,
Its moos were sweet and tuneful.
But all I got was half and half—
And half of half a spoonful.

—J. Patrick Lewis

Future-Dipping

I haven’t much truck with clairvoyance;
It’s all I can handle, you see,
To deal with the present (at times, not too pleasant),
So, as for what’s next, let it be.

There are those with enhanced intuition,
And others who claim a sixth sense;
They make their predictions, of which most are fictions—
Are we better off?  No offense,

But it seems that a glimpse of the future
Does little to sweeten our cup.
For since we’ve evolved, nothing much has been solved;
Further foretaste might make us give up.

The secret of life is the voyage,
And just how one copes with the journey;
So laugh, love and hearten those lives you take part in,
Until you go out on a gurney.

—Mae Scanlan

On the Beach

Millions of unexploded bombs lie in waters off US coast, researchers say (Oct. 8, 2012)
Lurking (and leaking) beneath the world’s oceans are an estimated 200 million pounds of unexploded and potentially dangerous explosives—from bombs to missiles to mustard gas….at least 31 million pounds of bombs can be found not just in the Gulf, but also off the coasts of at least 16 states…
—Citizens for Legitimate Government website (Oct. 14, 2012)

Let’s take a little swim, my dear.
The ocean’s calm and blue.
There’s nothing anywhere to fear.
I’m told the sharks are few.

There’s not a hurricane in sight.
There hasn’t been a spill
of toxins since the other night.
And jellyfish can’t kill.

It’s true no lifeguards are around,
but, really, there’s no need.
Those needles littering the ground?
I’m sure, if we take heed,

We won’t get stuck, or, if we do,
small jabs are not the worst.
Come on! The ocean’s calm and blue.
I’m ready. You go first.

—Bruce Bennett

Bummer

“Hey, Dad—you got a cigarette?”
I’d ask when young and broke.
“Don’t worry about me, my pet!”
He’d say (and have a smoke).

—Julie Kane

Addition By Subtraction?

Adopt, if you aspire to lasting fame
A hifalutin, hyphenated name
Like Rimsky-Korsakov or Chiang Kai-shek,
Love-Hewitt, Temple-Black, Toulouse-Lautrec,
Jay-Z, Abdul-Jabbar, or Sun Yat-Sen,
Ben-Gurion, Ice-T, Henin-Hardenne,
Ms. Zeta-Jones, Bourke-White, or Bulwer-Lytton,
Or Parker-Bowles (so many from Great Britain!),
Day-Lewis, Louis-Dreyfus, Newton-John,
Or even villains like Abdel-Rahman,
Their names embellished by a simple touch.
(Who knew a minus sign could add so much?!)

—Bob McKenty

Where’s a Pied Piper When You Need One?
                                             (Headline in the Daily Telegraph, May 25, 2012)

In “The Pied Piper of Hamelin” by Robert Browning
Thousands of rats are led to the river and to death by drowning.
A good story but not a true one: no one sensible believes a word of it.
Nonetheless, tourists flock to Hamelin because they have heard of it.
Tourists spend money and make a place richer,
But, sad to recount, that is not the whole picher.
Visitors leave litter, some of it edible, and that’s
Why Hamelin has a problem, and the problem is RATS.
When they’ve finished their dinner they go back underground
And gnaw through any cables that are lying around.
The traffic lights stop working and so does the fountain.
Council workmen have repaired them so many times they have
stopped countin’,
Which brings me at last to the burden of my song:
Next time someone quotes Auden saying, “Poetry makes nothing
happen,” you can tell them he was wrong.

—Wendy Cope

On Seeing Black Smoke Issuing from the Sistine Chapel during the Papal Conclave

Pope?
Nope.

—John Whitworth

After Reading the Biography Savage Beauty

I’d like to write sonnets, a dozen a day,
Compose a libretto and maybe a play.
My lustrous red hair would be crowned with the bay
If I were like Edna St. Vincent Millay.

I’d like to have lovers, both straight ones and gay,
I’d like to hold both sexes under my sway
And not give two figs about what people say
Like Edna, Edna St. Vincent Millay.

I’d like to throw tantrums and get my own way,
I’d like to be fresh as a young Beaujolais,
And slyly bewitching as Morgan Le Fay,
Like Edna, Edna St. Vincent Millay.

I’d move with the grace of one trained in ballet.
My husband would not only love but obey.
People would flock to my readings—and pay—
If I were like Edna St. Vincent Millay.

—A.E. Stallings

Edna Millay’s Goldfish

The world stands out on either side,
No wider than the bowl is wide.
Above the world is stretched the sky,
No higher than the water’s high.

The fish that bears a valiant heart
Can push the glassy walls apart,
And with a visionary soul
Beholds Atlantis in his bowl.

But he whose heart is parched and spare,
Even in water gasps for air.
And he whose soul is thin and flat
Is candy for the family cat.

—Gail White

Edna Millay’s Goldfish

The world stands out on either side,
No wider than the bowl is wide.
Above the world is stretched the sky,
No higher than the water’s high.

The fish that bears a valiant heart
Can push the glassy walls apart,
And with a visionary soul
Beholds Atlantis in his bowl.

But he whose heart is parched and spare,
Even in water gasps for air.
And he whose soul is thin and flat
Is candy for the family cat.

—Gail White