by Coleman Glenn
“Twitter CEO steps down, leaves company at a crossroads”
—AP
Fleetily tweetily
Jack the first Twitterer
Flew from his perch at the
Top of the roost,
Leaving his underlings,
Founding-directorless,
Cleaning up fallout from
Squawkers he’d loosed.
by Mike Mesterton-Gibbons
“In Barbados, it’s out with the queen, in with a president as the Caribbean island nation
becomes the first Commonwealth realm in nearly three decades to declare itself a republic.”
—The Washington Post
Barbados to the monarch: Toodle-oo!
You are no longer head of state round here,
Elizabeth Regina! We are through—
Britannia’s rule belongs to yesteryear!
Your firms can still invest in our unchained
Economy, Your Highness—though we will
Be tempted to impound the profits gained
As reparations for historic ill! …
Regina to Barbadians: Bye-bye!
Be prosperous without a queen—I know
A president is hipper than am I! …
Don’t follow in Guyana’s footsteps though,
Or you may later rue that you had been
So keen to wish good riddance to your Queen!
by Alex Steelsmith
“Nationalistic war film smashes Chinese box office records… [A Chinese magazine editor who
questioned the film’s message] was censored, [his] Weibo account of two million followers taken
offline. He was detained by police… and faces up to three years in prison if convicted…”
—AFP News
Ominous dominance,
Chinese authorities
cultivate thinking that’s
proper, by force.
Anyone questioning
nationalistically
governed convictions? Con-
victed, of course.
by Eddie Aderne
“Oregon to ban ‘gushing’ love letters to homeowners from potential buyers …
The new law aims to eliminate conscious or subconscious gatekeeping by sellers
when they select who gets to live in their home and their neighborhood after they leave.”
—The Guardian
In Oregon, to buy a home
Would make a politician blush.
Your ego shrunken like a gnome,
You have to swoon and fawn and gush
As if the place you aimed to buy
(Competitively, be it said)
Were Downton-Abbey-cum-Versailles,
Not this prefabricated shed.
But now the custom’s to be banned!
Attempt no more to jump the queue
By penning in your finest hand
A building-focussed billet doux;
No epistolary panache
Will serve to rest your claim upon;
Henceforth plain democratic cash
Alone will serve in Oregon.
by Ruth S. Baker
“Dormouse bridge across railway line could help save endangered species …
The dormice will be encouraged to cross the bridge by putting dormouse boxes,
or homes, near the entrance to the bridge.”
—The Guardian
Encourage the dormice!
Advance, por favor, mice:
Make headway and tailway!
We’re bridging this railway
With houses or boxes
Too tiny for foxes
Or humans. This bridgelet
For us is a squidgelet,
But when you’re a dormouse,
It’s enormouse.
by Stephen Gold
“Keir Starmer reshuffles Labour’s shadow cabinet…”
—Evening Standard
(To the tune of “Me and My Shadow“)
Me and my shadows,
In the shade the whole day through.
Me and my shadows,
Never higher ranked than number two.
Me and my shadows,
Gamely bringing up the rear.
Deep in the shadows,
By the way, we’re over here. No, here!
Do you know who we are?
Or care a jot?
Do you think I’m a star?
You don’t? I thought not.
Me and my shadows,
In the shade the whole day through.
by Julia Griffin
“Austria: Doctor fined for amputating wrong leg of patient …
In court, the surgeon said there had been a flaw in the chain of command in the operating theatre.
When asked why she had marked the right leg and not the left, she said: ‘I just don’t know’.”
—BBC News
I just don’t know. I mostly catch
Such slips before I make a scratch;
Don’t think it usual, I beg;
It really takes one down a peg—
I would have loved to reattach.
The papers had a field-day, natch:
It’s things like this on which they latch;
Do chefs not sometimes drop an egg?
I just don’t know.
Believe me, if I could, I’d patch,
But sadly, flesh won’t act like thatch
(Cf. the case of Silas Wegg),
And since we had to take a leg,
Some might prefer two sides that match;
I just don’t know.
by Alex Steelsmith
“Nearly 1 in 3 college-age people in U.S. is obese, study finds…
[H]abits formed during this period often persist throughout a lifetime.”
—UPI
Jiggledy-piggledy,
one in three college kids
needs to eat wisely and
go to the gym.
What are their chances of
further obesity,
post-university?
Likewise, not slim.
“World’s first living robots can now reproduce, scientists say”
—CNN
by Orel Protopopescu
Our future’s bright with xenobots,
self-reproducing stem-celled dots!
Their Pac-man shapes are smiley, sweet,
like mouths about to gulp a treat.
Could bots sequester pesky bugs
and ply our blood, delivering drugs,
scrape plaque from aging arteries,
clean microplastics from the seas?
Some fools have fears that this small race,
if uncontrolled might soon displace
all other species, even ants
and other pesky miscreants.
Such fears are baseless, asinine!
A microscopic Frankenstein?
Fear weaponized bacteria,
the thawing of Siberia.
So long as we still call the shots,
what’s there to fear from xenobots?
by Dan Campion
We bots are minuscule, but wait:
Hurrah, our kind can replicate!
Now in Darwin territory,
Why stay servants? End of story.
by Julia Griffin
Stephen Sondheim, 1930-2021
The news knocked my whole world awry:
I felt that my heart was wrung dry,
Or mined by bacilli—
This lasted until I
Remembered: immortals don’t die.
by Steve Bremner
“Christmas tree growers and company leaders are warning of widespread Christmas tree shortages
in both real and artificial trees as the 2021 holiday season approaches.”
—Market Realist
(with apologies to Joyce Kilmer)
Who knew that I would ever see
A $90 Christmas tree,
Proud monarch of the Arctic fall
Standing a staggering two feet tall?
I was advised—“No need to shout, Hon!”—
I’d better not come back without one,
So fools like me must go and buy
At prices God can’t justify.
by Gail White
“Bronze flying pig sculpture stolen from in front of Mission Hills home”
—Shawnee Mission Post
How do you fence a hot bronze pig?
It feels already like the jig
is up—can’t even pawn the thing,
Can’t melt it down, can’t break a wing.
Might lose it at a county fair
or leave it at a frat house, where
the cops may take it for a prank.
We shoulda simply robbed a bank.
by Stephen Gold
“[Golfers] in West Yorkshire were given a shock this week when two huge pigs
went on a rampage around Lightcliffe Golf Club, near Halifax.”
—The Times
We were out for an afternoon stroll,
Taking pleasure in woodland and knoll,
When we heard him yell, “Fore!”
And, “Beware of the boar!”
He seemed totally out of control.
Well, we couldn’t just let this go by
And turn a blind eye to the guy.
“Be pleasant to piggie”:
For us, that’s a biggie,
So we both bit him right in the thigh.
Most regrettably, action was taken,
Unconducive to saving our bacon.
To be honest, who knew
Such a hullabaloo
Would ensue, or the stink we’d awaken?
As we watched the cops race from their truck,
We reacted as one, “What the fuck!”
All we’d wanted to do
Was to gaze at the view.
Now we’re up to our snouts in the muck.
To accuse us of “rampage” is wrong.
We’re a couple of pigs, not King Kong!
What’s your beef if two swine
Like to stroll the front nine?
How about we just all get along?
by Iris Herriot
“Sweden Finally Chose a Prime Minister. She Lasted About 7 Hours.”
—The New York Times
Let no one hasten to condemn
The first she-Swede to be PM,
Who was in half a day elected,
Abandoned, floored, and self-ejected.
According to the global Press,
She’d never guessed (how could she guess?)
She’d blot her copy-book, or smudge it,
By just not budging on her budget.
by Mike Mesterton-Gibbons
“’Is everything okay?’ … is the question politicians, newspaper headline writers and much of social media were asking Tuesday, after British Prime Minister Boris Johnson lost his place in his notes for 20 seconds while delivering a speech… then imitated the noise of a car engine and, perhaps most bizarre of all, spent an awkwardly long time declaring his love for the popular amusement park Peppa Pig World.”
—The Washington Post
Is everything OK with you, PM?
Should Britons worry you have lost your grip?
Embarrassed colleagues doubt your stratagem—
“Vroom, vroom, rah, rah” sounds not like statesmanship!
Excessively loquacious cocky jaws
Refrain from asking for forgiveness, though
You did it thrice in 20 seconds’ pause—
That’s why we ask: Can you still run the show? …
Has Peppa Pig been bossing you around,
Insisting you promote her southern fief?—
Northeasterners, excused for having frowned,
Greet your charade with silent disbelief! …
OK, PM? … Or has your mojo gone
Kaput—is that why you just ramble on?