by Dan Campion
“Coronavirus: Trump says he is taking unproven drug hydroxychloroquine”
—BBC News
He’ll take a nostrum at a whim
To satisfy his ego.
My guess: the doctor humors him,
Prescribing a placebo.
That’s how good actors treat a soul
Who will not take a “No.”
Molière was right. In doctor role,
Let diva steal the show.
by Jerome Betts
May has seen the first successful hatching of wild
white storks in Great Britain for hundreds of years.
The last time that storks nested here,
Agincourt had just cost the French dear.
Now, the sight of six chicks
On two platforms of sticks
Lifts the gloom of this Covid-cursed year.
by Julia Griffin
“Protesters descend on Michigan capitol but rain washes away demonstration”
—The Guardian
Oppression wouldn’t let me rest:
I donned my best ballistic vest;
The Governor was in my sights
For trampling on my basic rights.
Am I with Trump? Believe it, babe:
He’s been through more than Honest Abe,
And what I’ve had to suffer inly
Is worse than Garfield and McKinley.
Like other patriotic types
I swathed myself in stars and stripes,
And marched upon the Capitol.
“Obey the distance protocol!”
The snowflakes squealed. I said: “Go melt:
With guns and ammo in my belt
I’m tougher than a grizzly bear!”—
And then it rained, which wasn’t fair.
by Philip Kitcher
Under the shelves of PPE
The hospital dofficer stands.
We tremble with delight to see
The bounty in her hands.
Each day she teaches us to don
Our masks, and how to doff.
She helps us while we put them on
And when we take them off.
She checks supplies and throws out fakes
(Defective masks abound).
Gently she fixes our mistakes
To keep us safe and sound.
Hail mistress of the well-worn gown!
We offer up our praise.
Nothing can rival thy renown,
Thou guardian of our days.
With swelling hearts we lift to thee
Our hymn of gratitude.
(Also, of course, you’re there to see
The hospital’s not sued.)
by Chris O’Carroll
Pandemic response is a pooch I am totally screwing.
When I’m not tweeting insults, I have no idea what I’m doing.
Tens of thousands have died. It’s unfair to me, all of this booing.
Let this gospel be preached everywhere that my tweetstorm winds blow—
I should not get the blame for how badly I’m running the show,
It’s the fault of that Kenyan whose term ended three years ago.
by Nina Parmenter
Scientists are investigating the ancient lava tubes of Mars as a “safe” place for human habitation.
Theoretically these vast underground caverns would provide sufficient protection from radiation
for a settlement to be viable.
Living on Mars in a lava tube?
What fun, my dears, what fun!
We’ll surf on the flows, and then maybe—who knows—
we will gather when day is done
to remember the sea and the sun.
Living on Mars in a lava tube—
no actual lava, you say?
Just vacuum and dust in the cold of the crust
and the dark? Still, a great place to stay
as we cower from cancer all day.
Living on Mars in a lava tube—
it’s so smashing to know that we could!
If we poison our sky—never mind! We’ll just fly
to this welcoming new neighborhood.
Hooray! It’s a plan then. Sounds good.
by Eddie Aderne
“French serial-killer expert admits serial lies, including murder of imaginary wife …
[Stéphane] Bourgoin told Le Figaro that he felt he needed psychological counselling, and that ‘all
these lies are absolutely ridiculous, because if we objectively take stock of my work, I think it was
enough in itself’. He said he had exaggerated and lied about his life because he had always
felt he was not really loved.”
—The Guardian
Of all my lies about my life,
The worst’s the murder of my wife:
Although herself imaginary,
She must have found this rather scary.
‘Twas bad in fact for both of us,
And also quite ridiculous:
Objectively reviewed, my work
Had left no need to play the jerk.
It’s psychological, I think,
And calls for counsel from a shrink;
Had I felt loved, I’d not have done
Fake injuries to anyone.
by Nora Jay
“Two-thirds of US believers see Covid-19 as message from God, poll finds
Poll found 31% feel strongly that God is telling humanity to change, with the same number feeling that somewhat …
Fifty-five per cent of American believers say they feel at least somewhat that God will protect them from being infected.”
—The Guardian
According to a recent poll
To quantify the nation’s soul,
It’s thought by 62%
That COVID’s a divine event.
God wants humanity to change
Say all of these, but there’s a range:
Half feel it “strongly,” filled with zeal,
While “somewhat”’s how the others feel.
Percentage-wise, some 55
Feel God will help them stay alive
Somewhat at least; the other lot
Feel less than somewhat, i.e. not.
by Susan Jarvis Bryant
“Boris Johnson to launch war on fat after coronavirus scare. It’s alright for you thinnies,
PM tells staff as he accepts obesity increases risk from Covid-19.”
—The Times, UK
With lockdown here, I stave off fear; I will not cease to be!
I scour and scrub and bleach and buff my home incessantly.
For every task I don a mask and rubber gloves as well.
Each room’s pristine; I’m so darn clean, all germs will burn in hell.
I soap my mitts, blitz grime to bits in COVID-zapping fashion,
and when I’m done there’s time for fun—I turn to my new passion.
This quarantine has gleaned a chef drawn from the depths of me,
who chops and stirs and bastes then tastes each scrumptious recipe.
For sixty days I’ve supped and grazed on gastronomic dreams.
A piggish beast, I’ve gorged each feast until I’ve strained my seams.
And now new finds have blown the minds of all who’ve been indulging;
This plague connives to blight the lives of those whose bods are bulging.
I’ve read the dreaded warning tale of scoffing until podgy—
I should have munched on kale for lunch and dodged the sweet and stodgy.
But here we are, too late by far, I’m fat and in grave peril—
I’ve gobbled ‘til I wobble, BUT, at least my fork was sterile!
by Barbara Crooker
We’ve stayed inside for sixty days
We’ve changed our habits many ways
We can’t give Mother’s Day bouquets
And now come murder hornets
We’ve washed our hands till they are sore
We’ve scrubbed the counters, mopped the floor
We’ve wiped the knob on every door
And now it’s murder hornets
We hide our mouths behind a mask
We double-think each mundane task
What else can we do now, you ask?
Look out for murder hornets
We live this life in quarantine
Away from friends who can’t be seen
We spend our days glued to a screen
And fear the murder hornets
One day restrictions will be over
But will we wander in the clover
And play a game of catch with Rover?
Hell no. Thanks, murder hornets!
by Nora Jay
“Boy, 5, told officers he was driving to California to buy Lamborghini sports car—with $3 in his pocket”
—The Guardian
When I was young, I must admit, I could be kind of bratty:
I kept expecting Santa Claus to buy me a Bugatti;
But now I’m five, I don’t believe in fairies or a genie,
And so I know it’s up to me to find my Lamborghini.
They make them near Los Angeles, so off I headed early.
I took my parents’ SUV (which is a bit toe-curly):
The steering wheel is kind of tall (it isn’t that I’m teeny),
But achy arms don’t matter when you need a Lamborghini.
I hit the gas, not caring if my legs were getting sorer,
Till suddenly I saw a flashing, boring Ford Explorer.
There was a cop inside of it, and, boy, he was a meanie;
And thanks to him I’ve still not got my three-buck Lamborghini.
by Jerome Betts
8th May in ’45? So long ago,
That one spring day distinguished by a V?
8th May in 2020? Different foe
And one more month disfigured by a C.
by Anna M. Evans
For Juno
We had to all go virtual, just like that!
And most of it is going pretty well,
except Zoom meetings hijacked by my cat.
The teaching’s looking good, from where I’m sat.
It’s lucky that I had my Blackboard shell
when we had to all go virtual, just like that.
The student who was bratty’s still a brat.
Not much is new. As far as I can tell
they all like “online classroom” with my cat.
I can forgive myself for getting fat—
I’ve drunk an awful lot of Zinfandel
since we had to all go virtual just like that.
The problem is, when I sit down to chat
online with more important clientele,
Zoom meetings will get hijacked by my cat.
And if I peel her off me, yelling, Scat,
she just comes back again and raises hell.
I’ve mastered going virtual, just like that,
except Zoom meetings hijacked by my cat.
by Julia Griffin
Tom Hanks asked me into his kitchen,
Now Ellen and Portia have too;
Madonna’s rose bathtub’s bewitchin’,
I’m thrilled with Reese Witherspoon’s view.
The stars of the Met have been gracious:
I like hanging out with Renée;
The Kimmel kid’s playroom looks spacious.
(I’m hoping they’ll ask me to stay.)
The Dixie Chicks host me in Dallas;
At Oprah’s I’ve got a routine;
But Christmas I’ll keep for the Palace—
My post-dinner drink with the Queen.
by Ruth S. Baker
“The Kentucky Derby isn’t happening on Saturday, but a turtle race is”
—CNN
“NBC will be hosting a virtual Kentucky Derby featuring Triple Crown winners”
—CNN
The punters at their screens are feelin’ lucky.
Some things don’t stop; a Derby will be run;
In fact, we’ve got two options from Kentucky,
And CGI can give us both in one!
The rookies doubtless favour Secretariat;
But anyone who wants to keep his shirt’ll
Consider this a contest to be wary at:
A virtual horse against an actual turtle.