by Erika Fine

When he claimed that his fame
Meant a crotch was “fair game,”
It should have been over then.

When he mocked a reporter
With an inborn disorder,
It should have been over then.

When he said he is better than
A brave “loser” veteran,
It should have been over then.

When synagogue goers
Were brutally slain,
He whined that his hairdo
Was wrecked by the rain.
It should have been over then.

He sought votes—artificial!—
From a Georgia official.
It should have been over then.

He did not stop his gang
When they said Pence should HANG.
It should have been over then.

When he vilified Haitians
With absurd accusations,
It should have been over then.

He’s deceitful, uncivil,
With his grievance-filled drivel.
It should have been over by now.
And yet here we are.

by Alex Steelsmith

“Prickly mayor [of Plettenberg in North Rhine-Westphalia] bans cactus plants
in buildings… after a man [injured] himself on a cactus…”
—Sky News

Far away, a journalistic
pundit read the news, and quickly,
finding it paternalistic,
called the mayor in question prickly.
Surely, from a potted cactus
government need not protactus.

by Julia Griffin

“Cockatoo rescued after ‘living on brioche’ for four weeks inside Sydney supermarket
NSW environment minister hopes ‘Mickey will be flying free by tomorrow’ after successful
capture by wildlife services”
—The Guardian

The Sydney supermarket cockatoo
Flies free at last.  All I can say is, Gosh;
How has it kept itself so buoyant through
Four weeks’ worth of Australian brioche?

by Stephen Gold

“[New Zealand] Airport sets three-minute limit on hugs”
—The Times

The hour has come to part, dear,
And bid our last goodbye.
Sweet longing fills my heart, dear.
Time flies, and so must I.

Alas, we must be chaste, dear,
Though kisses are divine,
Or else we will be chased, dear,
For holding up the line.

As deep emotion swells, dear,
We drain the bitter cup,
Just as some killjoy yells, dear,
Now move along! Time’s up!

by Marshall Begel

Proxy resignations are “a rapidly growing service for Japanese workers who can’t bring themselves to hand in their notice in person.”
—The Guardian

For twenty bucks I’ll take your letter
And place it in your boss’s hand,
Explaining that this way, it’s better,
And how you hope she’d understand.

But if you can’t just walk away,
I’ll offer you this special deal:
For fifty dollars more I’ll say
Exactly how you really feel.

by Chris O’Carroll

“But that was a day of love…”
—Donald Trump, describing the January 6 insurrection

We vandalized the Capitol,
We defecated on the floor.
It was a day of love and we
Would love to give the country more.

We lovingly assaulted cops,
And many of them didn’t die.
We’d love to do it all again
If our guy tells his favorite lie.

He told us we should fight like hell,
So we made love by making war.
Believe us when we say that we
Would love to give the country more.

by Philip Kitcher

The election’s so tight
I lie sleepless at night,
juggling numbers that fail to console.
Ample margins of error
make me shudder in terror.
How I long for a trustworthy poll!

Experts point to dispersion—
or perhaps it’s reversion?
Is inducing psychosis their goal?
Talk of sampling technique
might as well be in Greek.
Can’t they give me a trustworthy poll?

Each uncertain statistic
makes my pulse go ballistic,
drives my blood pressure out of control.
Starved of what I desire,
I shall surely expire
for the want of a trustworthy poll.

by Marshall Begel

(With apologies to W.C.W.)

“A man from central Iowa has broken the Guinness World Record for the fastest
motorized wheelbarrow. … Friends and family gathered in support [as he] set the new
record at 57 kph.”
—WHO13

so much depends
upon cheering from friends
when making a Guinness-Book winner

he broke record speed
then after the deed
they ate the white chickens for dinner

by Alex Steelsmith

“Swiss Court Rules Workers Must Clock Out For Bathroom Breaks…
‘Swiss law does not mention the right of employees to go to the toilet…’
[T]he company believed the issue was generally about ‘an interruption of work…’”
—HuffPost

Hurried, harried
Swiss employees
do their duties
much in haste;

firms concerned that
interruptions
waste their time can
time their waste.

*Alex Steelsmith calls this poem a “double trochee.” For his suggested guidelines to writing your own, click here.

by Steven Kent

“Is Donald Trump the greatest grifter of them all? Melania is giving him a run for his money”
—The Guardian

Good family man, he is;
A whiz, he is, at biz,
And so I give him all my heart’s devotion.
(I loathe his ugly mug,
But with a book to plug,
I’ve got to play my part and do promotion.)

A savior he will be
To keep our country free,
So vote for him again the way I’m doing!
(If this might get my spouse
The hell out of our house,
There’s not a lie that I won’t keep on spewing.)

It’s time to take my shot:
You love me, do you not,
And find me, as First Lady, most compelling?
(I really do not care—
That’s on the clothes I wear—
As long as merchandise of mine is selling.)

by Dan Campion

“Elon Musk has given $75 million, so far, to put Donald Trump back in the White House”
—NPR

Be careful, Elon! Croesus was
This planet’s richest king,
But Cyrus, who had greater buzz,
Made him his underling.

by Mike Mesterton-Gibbons

“Voters don’t believe Boris Johnson’s most controversial claims in new book, poll finds”
—The Independent

Believe in me. This modest ego trip
Of fewer than eight hundred pages will
Retell the story of my statesmanship.
In retrospect, it will appear as skill.
Spare‘s author, whom, with manly pep talks, I
Urged not to leave GB, may claim we had
No chats; the Palace may flat out deny
Liz R had sought my help; that Oxford grad
Ennobled, Dave, who fought the Brexiteer
And lost, may yet gainsay aspersions he
Slung swearingly my way; and polls, I hear,
Have found that voters too do not trust me.
Et tu, Brute? … The joke may soon hit home,
Dear reader—you have bought a rubbish tome!

by Stephen Gold

“Three-armed robot conductor makes debut [before an orchestra] in Dresden”
—The Guardian

Bernstein, Böhm and Barbirolli
Wouldn’t tolerate such folly.
Had they let this thing conduct,
They’d all have been completely finished.

by Julia Griffin

(After W.E. Henley)

“Conkers cheating row as men’s champion found with steel chestnut:
David Jakins [“King Conker”] says metal replica discovered in his pocket was only ‘for humour value’”
—The Telegraph

Out of the green, o’er-prickled case,
As glossy as the noblest steed,
It swings in might, till all give place
To my unconquerable seed!

Confronted by the strongest foe,
It would not deign to dodge the act,
Prevailing with a single blow:
A little dented, but uncracked.

What though a rival, sick with spite,
Found in my garb a seed of steel?
That was for jest and not for fight,
And we shall win upon appeal.

It matters not how losers sore
Like Johnson-Ferguson demur:
Roan Beauty triumphs! And the corps
Of kings and conquerors concur.

by Felicia Nimue Ackerman

You’re finding it hard to decide?
Let practical sense be your guide.
To help you get over the hump,
I’m listing the virtues of Trump: