Poems of the Week

Oplease?

by Jesse Anna Bornemann

“A New Orleans Man Wants His Opossum Back. Thousands Have Joined His Plea.”
—The New York Times

Wildlife agents, bend the law some—
Let the man keep his opossum!

It doesn’t bite!
It won’t defy you!
Can’t it just enjoy the bayou?

A Looming Cheese Crisis

by Bruce Bennett

“A collapse in microbe diversity puts… French cheeses at risk”
—Vox

“Say a prayer for Camembert!”
Is it in trouble? Oui!
And as you do, remember blue,
and do not leave out brie.

That world we’d face would be a place
too barren to survive in!
So gird your curds. Direct your words.
“May microbes stay alive in

This Brave New Age. Don’t turn that page.
Don’t make us quit this treasure.
Dieu, show restraint. Please, please, don’t taint
our aptitude for pleasure

With something vile. Let us still smile
as, savoring, we eat a
small tranche of bliss. Dieu, spare us this:
a mouthful of Velveeta!”

Method of Malfeasance

by Marshall Begel

“[Methodist] pastor has been arrested on allegations that he sold crystal meth out of his church’s rectory”
—ABC News

Methodist cleric had rash
Methods for pulling in cash—
Methodically working to hawk
Meth to the ministry flock.
Methinks such a dangerous course
Methuselah would not endorse.

Sole Man

by Steven Kent

“Reeling From $450 Million Penalty, Trump Hawks $400 Shoes”
—The New York Times

A defendant in Dutch (name of Don)
Needed revenue quick and signed on
For a footwear convention.
How fitting to mention:
The name combines sneaker and con.

The Eternal Recurrence of Boris the Brazen

by Philip Kitcher

“UK general election: the seats the Tories will lose if the polls are right”
—The Guardian

We’re careening ever faster
to political disaster,
as the pollsters and the pundits all agree.
Starting now, the Tories need a
strong and charismatic leader,
and the only possibility is—Me.

Lettuce Liz and Ritzy Rishi
offer nothing more than wishy—
washy speeches, leaving voters all at sea.
With our party disaffection
we’ll be trounced come next election,
if we don’t replace the leadership with—Me.

Labour speakers are so boring
they’re drowned out by public snoring,
they’re as bland and colorless as they could be.
Bring back sparkle! Bring back laughter!
Let’s live happy ever after,
with the King of Stand-Up comedy—that’s Me!

Swinging Voters

by Steven Urquhart Bell

“[Prime Minister] Rishi Sunak has called on British conservatives to ‘come together’
after two heavy byelection losses to Labour.”
—The Guardian

I know their flagging spirits need reviving,
And probably they all could go a gin,
But wouldn’t they be better talking tactics,
And leave off having orgies till they win?

My Money Valentine

by Steven Kent

“Say it with cash: Trump’s… love letter to Melania is fundraising appeal”
—The Guardian

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
You stand, through each indictment, right beside me
As all these prosecutors (FAKE!) deride me
In every trial’s evidential phase.
I might have mentioned just how much I care
A time or two way back when we were dating
And prompted by a midlife urge for mating.
(For once I wish I had a soul to bare.)
Though I face prison time, you’re undistraught;
You’ve always, in your fashion, been there for me
Through times of testing, times that turned quite Stormy
(Her love was merely rented; yours I bought).
Friends, help me show Melania adoration
By clicking on that heart-shaped link “Donation.”

Teatering

by Stephen Gold

“UK shoppers could face tea shortages due to trade route disruptions”
—The Guardian

It’s breakfast-time apocalypse!
We may run out of PG Tips
(A brew, dear friends across the Pond,
Of which we Brits are awfully fond).

As Houthi missiles rocket up,
We sigh and drain the bitter cup,
For if our tea should go to pot,
We’d be in the most dreadful spot.

Here’s the question that arises,
As we face this hellish crisis
(No, it’s not to do with Yemen):
Which is better, milk or lemon?

Gone Fish

by Julia Griffin

“A passenger reportedly brought rotten fish on to the plane in a carry-on bag, and placed it in
an overhead bin, before the maggots broke free and rained on to passengers seated below…”
—The Guardian

O how do you manage in transit
A fish that’s transcended its best?
At check-in they’re looking askance; it
Presents an unusual test.

It’s awkward, when asked for credentials,
At bag-drop or passport control
To hustle through all your essentials,
Like aging red snapper or sole;

You wrap it, perhaps, in your jacket,
And lay it with care in the tray,
But service dogs still may attack it;
If they don’t, the X-rayers may!

But let us assume you’ve succeeded.
You’re boarding, about to get in:
You’re worried now, will it be kneaded
To pulp in the overhead bin?

You’ve made it! You’ve laid it! It’s lying
On top, and the journey’s begun:
Wheels up! You and Fishcake are flying!—
Then something drops down. Not just one …

And everyone’s frantic. “They’re agates,”
You offer (to silence the screams),
But sadly, they prove to be maggots,
And this is a problem, it seems.

There follows a big song and dance. It
Results, I’m afraid, in arrest.
O how do you manage in transit
A fish that’s transcended its best?

Disco Discharge

by Marshall Begel

“A chain of Kentucky convenience stores are attracting visitors… for an unusual feature:
a button that… activates colored lights, a disco ball and music in the bathroom,
turning it into a miniature dance club.”
—UPI

If that plate of Funky Chicken
Made your insides stir and quicken,
Let the Disco Finger point you
Southward—we won’t disappoint you.

Pass the Bus Stop, keep your Hustle,
Clenching tight that certain muscle.
Give that bathroom door The Bump,
Boogie down to plant your rump…

Check out Yelp—our rating’s super—
For the Disco party pooper!

Taylor at the Super Bowl: A Dispatch from The Tortured Poets Department

by Nicole Caruso Garcia

For Anna M. Evans, and with apologies to William Blake

“Taylor Swift Conspiracy Theory Is Embraced by Nearly 1 in 5 Americans, Poll Finds”
—The New York Times

Taylor! Taylor! burning bright
In the skybox Sunday night,
What outlandish right-wing lie
Could tame thy popularity?

From Japan to Vegas sky
Just in time, thou cheer’st thy guy.
Fake romance! cry MAGA whiners,
Psyops rigged against the Niners!

And what cat-eyed queen’s swift arts
Could twist some undecided hearts?
And speak Dark Brandon’s name, promote
“Taylor’s Version” of the vote?

Fearing what thy fame enshrines,
Trumpers crap their Calvin Kleins.
What in hell? what toothless gasp
Dare rage at victories thou clasp?

When Time said Person of the Year
And Grammys held thy album dear,
Did Swifties smile thy work to see?
Did he who made Yuge Scam make thee?

Taylor! Taylor! burning bright
In the skybox Sunday night,
What outlandish right-wing lie
Dare tame thy popularity?

Lost and Sound

by Steven Urquhart Bell

“Busker reunited with lost guitar in hours thanks to ‘power of social media’”
—The Irish News

It’s heartening to see that social media
Is good for more than publicizing cack,
But would there be the same concerted effort
To help a busker get their bagpipes back?

Err Bags

by Alex Steelsmith

“Honda is recalling more than 750,000 vehicles to fix faulty passenger seat air bag sensor… The recall
covers certain Honda Pilot, Accord, Civic sedan, HR-V and Odyssey models from the 2020 through
2022 model years, as well as the 2020 Fit and Civic Coupe. Also included are the 2021 and 2022 Civic
hatchback, the 2021 Civic Type R and Insight, and the 2020 and 2021 CR-V, CR-V Hybrid, Passport,
Ridgeline and Accord Hybrid. Affected models from the Acura luxury brand include the 2020 and
2022 MDX, the 2020 through 2022 RDX and the 2020 and 2021 TLX.”
—AP

The models that Honda’s recalling are plenty;
the number appears to be something like twenty.
So what are the chances that others exist
that have the same problem, but aren’t on the list?
We shouldn’t assume they remembered them all;
perhaps there are some that they didn’t recall.

Eating In

by Simon MacCulloch

“Our human ancestors often ate each other, and for surprising reasons.”
—New Scientist

Well I can think of lots
For putting folk in pots;
A friend gone out of favor
Is truly one to savor,
And partners wed in haste
May still be good to taste.
But best of all, partake
Of loved ones at their wake—
There’s nothing quite as sweet
As fully seasoned meat.

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