—Molly Roberts in The Washington Post

by Barbara Loots

Twittery-quittery,
moving to Canada’s
smugly ignored by a
primitive tribe—
People of Email, the
antediluvian
techno-refusniks who
didn’t subscribe.

by Bruce Bennett

“I’d also like to come up with a new breakfast strategy.
I was cutting chunks of cold navel orange into plain yogurt
throughout citrus season, then scrambling eggs to eat on buttered
floured tortillas, then daubing apricot preserves onto store-bought croissants.
All that eventually grew tiring, as can happen when you eat the same thing
every morning…”
—Sam Sifton in The New York Times

My strategy is simple.
I down some coffee, black,
then maybe gulp a second cup.
I leave and don’t come back

Till dinnertime (I skip my lunch),
then pour myself a drink
and wolf whatever I can find
while standing at the sink.

by Eddie Aderne

“‘Fictosexual’ man married hologram bride, but now struggles to bond with her”
—New York Post

We shared a page; it isn’t hype,
Though cynics thought our tale a sham:
We found we were each other’s type,
As hollow heart met hologram.

Our love was deep: we went beyond
The bounds of the conventional,
But recently I’ve found our bond
A little two-dimensional.

by Chris O’Carroll

Cynthia Albritton “gained fame making sculptures of male rockers’ genitals,
an attention-getting gimmick that she grew to regard as art
and that became part of rock ’n’ roll lore.”
—The New York Times

The cast of stars she cast was semi-vast.
Their music and their horns were such a blast,
She loved them and she made their manhood last.
She lived life wild and free plus hard and fast.
At leaving culture warriors aghast
Her upright groupie craft was unsurpassed.

by Julia Griffin

One wicked man is all it takes:
One appetite that nothing slakes,
Which somehow went unseen before.
Now Europe shivers to its core
To see such elevated stakes.

Some horror every morning wakes
The Western conscience till it aches,
And nobody can now ignore
One wicked man.

Though all his promises are fakes
Exposed by every move he makes,
He has ensured we can’t be sure
He won’t begin atomic war,
So we must heed, for all our sakes,
One wicked man.

by Alex Steelsmith

“Pope Francis wrote that journalists who speculate that he has quietly supported Russian President
Vladimir Putin are falling into the ‘sin’ of participating in coprophilia
or a sexual fetish for excrement…”
—Business Insider

Holy-o Moly-o,
Jorge Bergoglio
uses the C-word; his
critics are stung.

Handlers defending his
venerability
say it was merely a
slip of the dung.

by Steven Urquhart Bell

“Heineken to cash in on booming demand for zero alcohol beers”
—The Scotsman

I tried some beer with zero alcohol;
It tasted like the arse-end of a skunk.
I never drank to give my tongue a ball;
I drank because I felt like getting drunk.
Removing all the alcohol’s effects
Is like removing orgasms from sex.

by Coleman Glenn

“Stinky but handsome and widely popular landscape trees have spawned aggressive invaders,
creating thickets that overwhelm native plants and sport nasty four-inch spikes.”
—AP News

So, yes, it has spikes that could skewer a possum,
Like fangs from an oversized viper.
And true, every seemingly innocent blossom
Spreads stench like an overripe diaper.
And granted, its canopy, blocking the light,
Kills indigenous trees in our city.
And it breeds like a weed. And it’s murder to fight.
On the other hand—isn’t it pretty?

by Steven Kent

“Pots of Gold: The World’s Most Expensive House Plants”
—The Guardian

Our investment is truly in trouble.
We bought in the midst of a bubble,
And when this goes bust
(As—no question—it must)
We expect all our losses to double.

It’s clear now we’ve no kind of chance
To make profits by breeding these plants.
Should’ve learned from Dutch history:
This market’s a mystery,
Whatever its Old World romance.

by Dan Campion

“Nicolas Cage Is in on the Nicolas Cage Jokes”
—The New York Times

To catch darts flung at one is rare,
So my hat’s off to Cage
For acting cool and debonair
Where others burn and rage.

We see where that leads: MAGA Land,
Cant, bullyrag, and boast,
As when Barack dinged Donald’s brand.
Some guys can’t stand a roast.

by Clyde Always

“Mike Tyson appeared to attack a fellow passenger on a Wednesday night flight…”
—New York Post

At Mike Tyson I aimed a few jeers
(perhaps I’d had too many beers)
and though I’m concussed,
I feel that I must
be thankful I’ve both of my ears.

by Claudia Gary

“A Fairfax judge ruled that [Johnny] Depp was within his rights to bring the case here because
the [Washington] Post’s online editions are published through servers located in Fairfax County.
Depp’s lawyers have said they brought the case in Virginia in part because the laws here are
more favorable to their case.”
—Associated Press

You’ve aced vaccine delivery!
Your taxes aren’t unfair!
Your school system is easily
as good as anywhere,

and now, thanks to a server room
within your bounds, oh County,
your courts have also scored a plum:
a slice of pirate bounty!

To make this charming pirate fall
(he claims), she did him wrong.
The court is not a private hall,
but warm tears fill the throng.

The Captain drones, but not one eye
begrudges him his island.
The judge is sweet as apple pie,
especially when she’s silent.

While Southern hospitality
gives Hollywood the shrug—
and while, dear County, we can see
that you deserve a hug—
please, after this festivity,
get back beneath the rug.

by Julia Griffin

“Giuliani, the former mayor of New York City and former personal attorney for ex-President
Donald Trump, appeared on Wednesday’s episode of the Fox singing show in a jack-in-the box
costume. He belted ‘Bad to the Bone.’”
—NBC News

How much—besides one greasy grin—
We’d lose of what this land rues
By trading Giuliani in
For lovely Giuliandrews!

Our Giuli could have danced all night
With genuine conviction,
And while she sang, how sweet and bright
And flawless was her diction!

But Rudy belting on about
The badness in his bone
Earns praise for honesty, no doubt,
But none for taste or tone.

by Kaitlyn Spees

(with apologies to Emily Dickinson)

I kept last Sabbath going to Church—
I kept the next at Home—
Observing Easter Sunday Mass—
Live-streamed through Google Chrome—

I kept last Sabbath in a Mask—
The Others? … mostly Not—
I dropped said Mask for just a sec
To swallow down Christ’s—Bod.

My parents caught it traveling—
My brother from a gym.
And through it all I stayed at home—
Then caught the bug from Him.

by Alex Steelsmith

Downgraded credit ratings signal “rising prospects that Moscow will soon default
on external loans for the first time in more than a century.”
—Associated Press

Rubledy troubledy
Russia’s economy
struggles, and Moscow can’t
pay back a loan.

Putin is peeved, but the
creditability
crisis is no one’s de-
fault but his own.