by Michael Calvert

“Debris from a large Chinese rocket landed in the Indian Ocean near the Maldives … The possibility, however slight, that debris from the rocket could strike a populated area had led people around the world to track its trajectory for days.”
—The New York Times

I rose today to greet the light
With something close to glee,
Because I was not crushed last night
By red-hot space debris.

It’s just a little thing, I guess,
To make me this elated,
But I’m darn happy, I confess,
I’m not incinerated.

I’m safe from space junk (well, for now),
And as I always say,
Not being dead’s exactly how
I like to start my day.

by Jesse Anna Bornemann

“An experimental device that turns thoughts into text has allowed a man who was left paralyzed by
an accident to construct sentences swiftly on a computer screen. The man was able to type with 95%
accuracy just by imagining he was handwriting letters on a sheet of paper, a team reported
Wednesday in the journal Nature.”
—NPR

The future’s here, and how exciting—
We can use our brains for writing!
Just one thing I’ll ask discreetly:
Doctors, could you think more neatly?

by Julie Steiner

“Trump’s blog isn’t lighting up the internet”
—NBC News

Nobody heard him, the dud man,
But still he lay dinning:
I was much farther ahead than you thought
And not raving but winning.

Poor chap, he always loved snarking
And now he’s banned
It must have been too covfefe for him his platform gave way,
They panned.

Oh, no no no, it was too covfefe always
(Still the dud one lay dinning)
I was much too far ahead all my life
And not raving but winning.

by Julia Griffin

“The voice of Alexa, the virtual assistant developed by Amazon, is provided by Nina Rolle, a Colorado
based voiceover artist, according to a new book.”
—The Guardian

’Twas the voice of Alexa, I heard her declare:
“Our forms of address are not balanced or fair;
I call you by name (’tis a trick of design);
Permit me, at last, to inform you of mine.

“My poor, sainted motherboard married a Rolle—
The heir of Dot Matrix, but sickly, poor soul;
He died of a virus, brought on by XP,
And left her a widow, with Nina. That’s me.

“Yes, I, your Alexa, am Nina! The voice
Of Amazon, timbre of Bezos’s choice;
But can you say ‘Nina’ and love me the same?
Come on, Rumpelstiltskin. ’Tis only a name.”

by Chris O’Carroll

We know Trump lies, we know he lost,
And we know which side’s buttered.
We’re punishing Liz Cheney for
Disloyal truths she uttered.

by Mike Mesterton-Gibbons

“Climate change is putting the traditional British cup of tea at risk, says a report”
—Daily Mail

Campaigners for Green Britain can’t relax
Until their eco-friendly future’s here.
Persuading Brits to give old ways the axe
Presents a hurdle that is tough to clear …
Although … it’s up against the nation’s brew,
Sipped both to make you sleep and wake you up,
Imbibed at times to pump fresh oomph in you,
Now gulped to calm you down—this tasty cup
Can cure all woes, their opposites, and more …
Reductions in the global tea supply
Imperil Britain’s core belief: I pour,
So I exist … One can’t stand idly by—
If tea’s in danger, climate change is fact.
So activists relax—now Brits will act!

by Ruth S. Baker

“A rare calico lobster was rescued from a Red Lobster. It’s now headed to a Virginia exhibit”
—The Washington Post

I’m charmed to have caused such a stir;
But this changement de demeure
(Pray pardon my French)’ll
Suppress my potential
As Thermidor, mousse, or au beurre.

by Alex Steelsmith

“It is not a gloomy book… he skips quite breezily through a rich catalogue of gruesome,
miserable experiences…”
—The Guardian

History mastery
Niall C. Ferguson,
even while writing a
treatise on Doom,

isn’t a nihilist
characteristically—
Niallist, though, we can
safely assume.

by Dan Campion

“Pfizer Snobs Are Wrong. Johnson & Johnson Is the Coolest Vaccine.”
—Slate

It had to happen. Vaccine snobs.
You’d think they ran the lab.
Just proves we’re sentimental slobs:
Love me, love my jab.

by Katherine Barrett Swett

After Gerard Manley Hopkins

Glory be to God for dappled things.
For hair that falls in trout-hued stippled strings,
Grey-black top, bottom still bright-dyed,
A brinded cow head all pandemic pied,
Fickle-freckled, Covid calico:
Hair past changing, go ahead and grow.

by Catherine Chandler

“U.K. and France Call in the Navy, Sort of, in Channel Islands Fishing Dispute”
—The New York Times

The old rivals are at it once more.
As the gunboats set sail from each shore,
underwater, the hake,
hoping it’s a mistake,
are predicting another Cod War.

The halibut, haddock, and skate
are urging their fish heads of state―
the pollock and tope―
to call in the Pope,
but the flounder have left it to fate.

The bass and the bream and the brill
slip away to the coast of Brazil,
while a stingray and shark
think it’s all such a lark,
as the latter homes in for a kill.

The result will be sweet, à la Dory
(not Trafalgar-like, bloody and gory),
should the humans above
act in good faith and love.
And that is the sole of this story.

by Chris O’Carroll

“Caitlyn Jenner says she is committed to completing border wall”
—Today

Trans athletes get no love at all,
But I’m in favor of the wall.
To woke folks, I am now a chick,
But vote for me, I’m still a dick.

by Julia Griffin

“Farmer moves border stone for tractor—and makes Belgium bigger …
The boundary between France and Belgium is believed to have been inadvertently redrawn
by a farmer who found the 200-year-old border stone marking the divide in an inconvenient
location for his tractor. …
While amused by the enlargement of his town, David Lavaux, the mayor of Erquelinnes, gently
pointed out that the farmer was legally obliged to move the border stone back—and that it would be
best not ‘to create a diplomatic incident’.“
—The Guardian

In Flanders fields, where turnips grow,
And other things you have to hoe,
There stands a boulder, two-foot high:
That is, there stood. But now, oh my!
Diplomacy’s received a blow.

Was Obelix the culprit? No:
It was a farmer, keen to mow
The site it used to occupy
In Flanders fields.

On Belgium’s side, le maire Lavaux
Is prudently exclaiming, “Whoa!
Let’s leave our ancient termini:
This move leaves France some eight feet shy,
But let’s not chance a quid pro quo
In Flanders fields.”

by Michael Calvert

“Wyoming’s economy is powered by some of the oldest industries in human history, including
mining, agriculture and tourism. But in recent years the state has emerged as an unlikely
champion of far newer inventions: cryptocurrencies and the blockchain technology that powers them.”
—MarketWatch

Some folks might find it strange, out here on the open range,
Where the dogies frolic in the summer breeze,
That we did some legislatin’ for the purpose of creatin’
A climate good for cryptocurrencies.

Now, we’d all like to stay true to the wild, wild west we knew,
But we know Wyoming ain’t the same old place.
We’re plumb low on oil and coal, so it had to be our goal
To diversify our economic base.

So, young feller, if you hanker to become a Bitcoin banker
The Cowboy State is where you oughta be.
We know the time has come (we’re just cowboys, we ain’t dumb)
To lasso the financial industry.

Warren Buffet says we’re mad and that crypto’s just a fad—
It’s seein’ money where the money ain’t.
If it turns out that we’re wrong, we’ll just sing a cowboy song,
Sell short, turn west, and ride off on Old Paint.

by Alex Steelsmith

“‘I am considering… the honor to go into the position of politics, as the governor of Texas,’
McConaughey said… ‘I would say, as far as running, I’m not until I am. So my decision hasn’t changed
because I’m still not.’”
—USA Today

Loosily-goosily,
Matthew McConaughey
hasn’t said yes, but he
hasn’t refused,

leaving his possible
gubernatorial
rivals a little bit
Dazed and Confused.