by Barbara Loots
“’He’s a very brilliant guy,’ Trump said on Monday, referring to Pompeo,
‘…I’d rather have him on the phone with some world leader than have him
wash dishes because maybe his wife isn’t there.’”
—The Kansas City Star
Dishwasher, Darling, that’s what you should be.
The president says so, and I so agree.
Just leave the important decisions to me.
Wives should be barefoot and pregnant and mute.
Where is Melania? Pressing his suit
and sweeping the residence kitchen to boot.
Bible examples like Vashti foretell
if wives disobey, the whole state goes to hell.
(Husbands should frequently beat them as well.)
Equality means you have your part to play,
like scrubbing and cooking and sewing all day.
And waiting on me. It’s the natural way.
by Orel Protopopescu
(With apologies to Gilbert and Sullivan)
He was the very model of a fine inspector general,
investigating fraud and waste, endemic and perennial,
who heard that Mike Pompeo used security to fetch his meals
and dog and son and dry-cleaned clothes, like menials with guns and wheels.
What’s worse, Mike cried “Emergency!” to peddle in the Emirates
and to the Saudis weapons seized by rebels backed by warring states.
Now Yemen’s bombed to bits, which to a lobbyist’s a “trade expense”
and Mike’s old West Point pal has moved from Raytheon to head Defense.
And there’s the matter of the dinners Pompous held for billionaires
to shore up lists of donors with the briefest nod to world affairs.
All this and more Steve Linick would have done his best to scrutinize
if Mike Pompeo hadn’t asked the Prez to cut him down to size.
Like Grimm (at Health) or Fine (Defense) and Atkinson (Intelligence),
Steve Linick was a victim of a fear of searing evidence.
Can Akard keep Steve’s place at State or Linick still be liminal,
or was he doomed as soon as he got wind of something criminal?
by Nora Jay
“South Korean football team apologises for using sex dolls to fill stands
After reviewing the case, league officials accepted FC Seoul’s claim that
it did not know the mannequins were sex toys, but said it ‘could have
easily recognised their use using common sense and experience.'”
—The Guardian
Don’t think it’s all no hips and bouncy chests:
A high-class doll will Share His Interests,
And so we’ve always thought it such a shame
We don’t get taken to a football game.
We come with phrases perfectly designed,
Like “Come, on dribble!” and “The ref is blind!”
“Foul!” “Offside!” “It was in!” “It wasn’t!” “Goal!”—
So when we got the call from FC Seoul,
We shouted, “Here we go!” and packed the stands,
Making big gestures with our bendy hands.
And now it seems we’ve caused an awful fuss:
The team insists they never ordered us;
There was some sort of mix-up with the mail;
They innocently finalized the sale
Without a clue what we’re intended for.
Oh yes. Believe us, boys: we know the score.
by Eddie Aderne
“Court dismisses appeal from woman claiming to be Salvador Dalí’s daughter
The saga made headlines around the world—as did the news that Dalí’s moustache had endured.
‘His moustache is still intact, [like clock hands at] 10 past 10, just as he liked it. It’s a miracle,’ said
Narcís Bardalet, the embalmer who prepared Dalí’s body after his death and helped with the
exhumation.”
—The Guardian
When the body of Dali was raised from the ground
And scientists poked in the box
(Obliging his soi-disante daughter), they found
The Master’s mustachios, once so renowned,
Still pointing to 10 after 10—no way downed,
Or droopy or gloopy or, as it were, drowned,
Like those differently-horrible clocks.
by Evan D. Morris
Batman of Gotham, el Zorro, Lone Ranger:
one-man defenders against unseen danger.
These trusty three…
are kinda like me.
We leave people asking, “Who was that masked stranger?”
by Nicole Caruso Garcia
Mayday for malady:
Rx Remdesivir!—
Gilead’s charting a
Course for the sick.
COVID-19 and its
Fingers-crossed-antidote
Both sound like planets in
Some sci-fi flick.
by Chris O’Carroll
“Anybody who joins one of our coalitions is vetted. And so quite obviously,
all of our coalitions espouse policies and say things that are, of course,
exactly simpatico with what the president believes. …
Our job at the campaign is to reflect President Trump’s point of view.”
—Tim Murtaugh, reelection campaign communications director, on recruiting pro-Trump physicians
for TV appearances to advocate speedy reopening
Many docs want to keep you alive
(We would guesstimate four out of five),
But we’ll dig up a few
Who are willing to spew
Fearless Leader’s election-year jive.
They’ll say, Open the country today!
Don’t let socialists lead us astray!
Then they’ll piously sigh
That the thousands who’ll die
Are a price our great nation should pay.
Since they see things this president’s way,
They will say what he tells them to say,
And they might even teach
Us to shoot up with bleach
Til this magically all goes away.
by Brian Allgar
President Trump said in a Monday tweet that he is “looking for a new outlet” after a Fox News host slammed his announcement that he’s taking hydroxychloroquine, and told viewers “This will kill you.”
Donald’s mood is far worse than mere pique;
He’s so angry, he barely can speak.
“I rely on Fox guys
To support all my lies,
But they said something TRUTHFUL this week!”
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.
