Poems of the Week

He’ll Go Down in His-tor-y

by Mae Scanlan

(To the tune of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer”)

Rudolph, The Don’s new mouthpiece,
Is combative, bold and gruff;
And, if you’ve ever heard him,
You could even call him tough.

All of the other lawyers
Failed to do the bigtime job;
So, Trump has chosen Rudolph,
Hoping he can solve the prob.

Ever since the Cohen plight
Trump has been uptight;
“Rudolph, with your nose of brown,
Can’t you somehow calm me down?”

So, here comes Giuliani,
Flying in to save the day;
Rest assured Ragin’ Rudolph
Cannot wait to join the fray.

USS Enforcer

by Dan Campion

Had Barbara turned the wheel of state
In place of eldest son and mate,
Both Georges would have led the cheer
For a pilot who could steer.

Slimy and Don

by Julia Griffin

SLIMEBALL, the President tweeted, again.
The former Director responded with STAIN.
NOT MORAL charged Comey. NOT SMART thundered Trump;
How sad such a friendship should end in a sump!
Once Comey was GUTSY. Now things are reversed,
And Trump has decided he’s really THE WORST;
Then Comey thought caution was part of the job:
He now compares Trump and his friends to THE MOB.
It’s tragic how sour the alliance has gone
Of Slimy J. Comey and Mafia Don;
But in their logomachy, each should find pride
In having such obvious right on his side.

Mystery Train

by Phil Huffy

Near ball fields and the picnic park
where joggers glide and lovers gaze,
a train of excremental sludge
awaited landfill trucks for days.

The title “Alabamy Bound”
that once belonged to music, sweet
had been applied to tons of waste
fermenting in the evening heat.

What sorry leadership indeed,
what governmental laissez faire,
to leave the townsfolk crying “foul”
with little help to clear the air.

Though Yankee pot roast stirs the soul
and teases, fragrantly, the tongue
no accolades of any kind
were likely heaped on Yankee dung.

Cuba Libre

by Barbara Loots

So long, Raúl. Hola, Miguel.
Will Cuba go on thriving?
Will some keep dreaming of Fidel
and antique cars keep driving?

Oh no. The revolution’s done,
and communism sucks.
Let tourists throng the Malécon
and bring a zillion bucks!

Sheriff Comey

by Bruce Bennett

Sheriff Comey’s back in town.
Gonna take The Big Guy down,
Gonna make him face the Law,
Corner him with Shock and Awe.

Man, there’s gonna be a fray!
No one wants to miss the day,
No one wants to miss the fuss.
He is back, and he’s for us.

We know how the Sheriff shoots.
Trump is quaking in his boots.
He is frantic in his tweets:
Foaming, frothing, he repeats

Lie on lie on lie on lie . . .
Let him writhe and let him try
Any trick he ever could—
None will do him any good.

None will help him. Now’s the time
He will pay for every crime.
In the shoot-out, he will fall.
Truth will stand up, straight and tall,

Tall as Comey, strong as Fate.
We’ll no longer have to wait.
Trump is toast. He will go down.
Sheriff Comey’s back in town!

A New Willow Song

by Julia Griffin

“The Queen’s last remaining corgi has died, it has been reported. Willow, who was almost 15, was put down after suffering from cancer, making it the first time the monarch has not owned a corgi since the end of the second world war.”–The Guardian

“Mine eyes itch. Doth that bode weeping?”–Othello IV iii

A courtier sat sighing
Where a bowl used to be
Sing O the Queen’s Willow:
White fur on his waistcoat
And also on his knee
Sing Willow, Willow, Willow.

“Oh where”, he sang sadly,
“Has ever been seen
Sing O the Queen’s Willow
A corgi so gorgeous
At almost fifteen?
Sing Willow, Willow, Willow.

Dear beast, you were famous
Throughout the EU
Sing O the Queen’s Willow:
The Commonwealth loved you,
America too
Sing Willow, Willow, Willow;

But one alone felt, who
Will never disclose
Sing O the Queen’s Willow,
The warmth of your heart and
The wetness of your nose
Sing Willow, Willow, Willow.

Sing O the Queen’s Willow,
Willow, Willow, Willow:
The worth of sweet Willow
The Queen alone knows.”

Bats and Stones

by James Hamby

“A Pennsylvania school district is arming its teachers with 600 miniature baseball bats”—cnn.com

Bats and stones
May break your bones
But guns will fucking kill you.

Burns, Baked

by Brendan Beary

“Argentinian officers fired after claiming mice ate half a ton of missing marijuana”— The Guardian

Wee sleekit, cowrin, tim’rous beastie,
Have yoursel’ a reefer feastie!
Man’s a brute, but aye, at least he
Provides ye food;
And what a food—sae crisp an’ tasty,
An’ you’re like, “Duuuuuude!”

Fra Ayrshire down to Buenos Aires,
Who but mice—ye furry faeries—
Make for better emissaries
Espousin’ pot?
(Tho’ true, now some constabulary’s
In quite a spot!)

So put some trippy tunes on then,
An’ party on—for who knows when
A buzz like this should come again?
Live in the now;
The best-laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men
Are like, “Oh, wow!”