by Iris Herriot

“Until the final typescript of Breakfast at Tiffany’s, which is set to be auctioned, the author had planned to call [the heroine] Connie Gustafson.”
—The Guardian

The heavy dark frames on the little chic face;
The gestures so saucy and sprightly;
The happy confusion of grace and disgrace:
I’m calling her Connie Gustafson.

The little black dresses; the innocent greed;
The gold for the powder room (nightly);
The cigarette-holder as long as a reed:
I’m calling her Connie Gustafson.

The crocodile heels as they twirl on the brink;
The pearls that are beaming so brightly;
The vision of youth that is lost in a blink:
I’m calling her Connie Gustafson.

by Brian Allgar

Believe me, I’m so cognitive
That in the end, they had to give
Me extra points; my final score
Was one they’d never seen before!

I recognized the camera—hell,
From photo-ops I know ’em well.
“And that’s an elephant!” I crowed.
“My kids already killed a load.”

It started off with easy stuff,
But later on, got pretty tough
With things like “What’s the date today?”
“Guys, that’s unfair!” I said, but hey,
Because I’m really smart, the best,
I checked my watch, and aced the test.

by Dan Campion

“Down In The Polls, Trump Pitches Fear: ‘They Want To Destroy Our Suburbs’”
—NPR

Whose suburbs does Don mean, one asks;
White folks’ of nineteen-fifty
(Before we needed Covid masks)?
Where Beaver’s folks were thrifty

To save for his and Wally’s room
And board at Upstate U
(Whose classes needn’t meet on Zoom
To dodge a “hoax” and “flu”)?

Where “My Three Sons” breathed prime-time air
(Not, like now, virus-ridden),
Rick Nelson crooned without a care,
And Father coddled “Kitten”?

Where lily-white meant innocent;
Black Lives weren’t seen or missed;
No actors gave the slightest hint
Such places don’t exist?

That seems to be the case, alas.
A land plunged in disease
Must suffer through Don’s looking-glass:
Old black-and-white TV’s.

by Chris O’Carroll

“Teenagers are using facemasks not just to avoid getting infected by coronavirus,
but also to buy alcohol from liquor shops, dressed up as elderly women.”
—International Business Times

Hey, kids, want to buy some booze?
Here’s a timely trick to use:
Dress in baggy oldster clothes,
Cover up your mouth and nose
With a mask so they can’t see
You don’t look like your ID
(No clerk nowadays will ask
Someone to take off a mask),
Draw in crow’s feet by your eyes,
Add a wig to your disguise,
Use a cane and walk in slow,
Hobble out, let good times flow.
Drink until you start to feel
Past your youthful prime for real.

by Paul Haebig

Ivanka says “Find something new!
There’s plenty of things you can do!”
I hope she’ll remember
that tip in November
and she will find something new too.

by Dan Campion

“Donald Trump’s niece says president is dangerous…”
—The Guardian

Dear Uncle Don, I’ve penned a book
About what makes you tick:
A better-late-than-never look
At why your ball joints click.

I dive beneath the hood and yank
This wire, and pull that plug,
And thump each reservoir and tank,
And even comb the rug.

I note the wobbly steering wheel,
The billowing exhaust,
The gears that whine, the brakes that squeal,
And why, and at what cost.

Don’t fret: I’m classroom-certified
To fix the family brand.
My clientele will pay to ride.
I know you’ll understand.

by Michael R. Burch

Houston, we have a problem:
the virus is multiplying;
meanwhile, our Demander-in-Chief
keeps lying, lying, lying.

by Eddie Aderne

“Competitive hotdog eaters nearing limit of human performance
A maximum of 84 hotdogs in 10 minutes is possible, says sports science study…
Improvement curves in elite sports ranging from sprinting to pole vaulting tend to follow
a so-called sigmoidal curve, featuring an initial slow and steady rise, followed by an era of rapid
improvement and finally a levelling off. “Hotdog eating has definitely reached that second plateau,”
said Smoliga [a sports medicine specialist].”
—The Guardian

Full seven dozen franks enwombed
By seven dozen buns
In twice-five minutes are consumed
By those heroic ones

Resolved to reach the utmost peak
Of gustatory nerve,
Incurring each thereby a sleek
So-called sigmoidal curve.

by Julia Griffin

“The White House has defended Ivanka Trump tweeting a photo of herself
holding up a can of Goya beans”
—The Guardian

The best are Bacon Beans, I think,
With Sisleys, and a cup
Of Dufy, coarsely ground (a drink
That always wakes me up);
Blake Beans I find enticing still
(A Buffet-worthy snack):
I really like them Bruegheled till
They’re little short of Braque.
I’m keen on Buthe Beans, with kraut,
And Pintos—I have jars:
No Canaletto keeps me out,
Nor Tintoretto bars;
What else? The sweet Kandinsky Bean
Is tasty after lunch;
But bitter Goyas!—well, I mean,
I’d not choose them to Munch.

by Nora Jay

“House cat ancestors’ remains found in Polish caves—2,000 miles from home
The discovery of 7,000-year-old remains of the Near Eastern wildcat in Europe adds a new
wrinkle to the cat’s evolutionary story. …
[T]he feline’s presence suggests it was comfortable living alongside, if not exactly with, humans—
an important step on the road to becoming fully domesticated.”
—National Geographic

Unearthed remains of house cats’ distant kith
Reveal a step towards domestication:
Living alongside, not exactly with.
A step, they say. I’d say a destination.

by Pat D’Amico

The plumping of lips,
Alas, costs a lot.
The plumper delivers
Shot after shot.
As for the impact,
There’s no guarantee
When a mask is required
For the plumpee.

by Julia Griffin

“Two mummies of high-status individuals who lived at the time of Cleopatra
have been uncovered at Taposiris Magna…
One bears an image of a scarab, symbolising rebirth, painted in gold leaf.”
—The Guardian

Trusting to gods unknown, you lived and died;
Grand shells were built and you were lodged inside.
The gold dust thinned away. Unfleshed, unjointed,
You waited there.
Now, are you disappointed?

by Iris Herriot

“France: Mysterious ‘Templar’ [Cross] Sign In Cornfield Attracts Thousands Of Tourists
In a rather shocking incident, a giant crop circle appeared out of the blue
in Northern France and is now responsible for drawing people in huge flocks.”
—Republicworld.com

This rather shocking incident
Left yards of corn severely bent:
Drawn by the rumours of these shocks,
Voyeurs arrived in urban flocks
To see, descended from the blue,
A huge Cross sign! (Cross farmer, too.)

by Ruth S. Baker

“The moon is 85 million years younger than previously thought”
—Space.com

With how loud steps, O Moon, thou scuff’st the skies!
How moodily, with what a scowling face!
Thy music drowns the tuneful spheres of space;
Thou seem’st to live on helium and fries.
Indeed the scientists now recognize
Their faulty maths, and from thy score erase
85 million years; there’s still no case
For surliness. ‘Tis late! Thou hast to rise!
I do not wish to spy, believe thou me,
Into thy love life—nor do I admit
Thou art a “crater face.” No, verily,
’Tis just a phase. Thou wilt grow out of it.
But if thou wouldst be paid to luminesce,
Pray do not leave thine orbit such a mess.

by Joseph Moorman

We have to accept
That our national pastime
Will not be played
The way it was last time.