by Nora Jay

“Yes, the caucuses are not perfect.”
—Des Moines Register

The App didn’t work as
Hoped by the Hawkeye,
Making a circus
Out of the Cauci.

by Alex Steelsmith

Caucusy raucousy,
Peter P. Buttigieg
called it a win, though the
count was in doubt;

critics who claimed he was
over-presumptuous
must have assumed he’d be
petering out.

by Ruth S. Baker

“The call of the jackass penguin, a wheezing bray that sounds like a donkey in distress,
follows some of the same linguistic laws found in human languages, scientists have found.”
—The Guardian

Although this penguin’s wheeziness
Suggests a donkey in distress,
Intensified attention finds
Expression much like humankind’s—
A fact surprising when we see
How cheerful penguins seem to be.

by Dan Campion

Alethephobia (the fear
Of truth) may have a cure,
But in the Senate would appear
Predestined to endure.

by Barbara Loots

“… Earth Fare is not in a financial position
to continue to operate on a go-forward basis.”
—Associated Press

The thing to retrace is
our go-backward basis:

the go-inward viewing
of go-outward doing,

the upward enhancing
of downward financing.

On-going contortions
have sucked up our fortunes.

Our present condition?
Go-nowhere position.

by Julia Griffin

“‘Deaf’ genius Beethoven was able to hear his final symphony after all
From 1818, he carried blank ‘conversation books’, in which friends
and acquaintances jotted down comments, to which he would reply aloud.
‘The conversation books are going to be a game-changer,’ [the musicologist] Albrecht said.
Among the surviving examples … he has so far found 23 direct references to the subject of hearing,
and estimates that several dozen more will show ‘he could still hear something’.”
—The Guardian

Beethoven heard? Apparently it’s true:
His “Conversation Books” have changed the game,
We’re told, disproving everything we knew.
Of course we’re happy for him! All the same—
What is this funny, furtive little peeve?
We’ve mourned so long his stricken genius,
And presto! we’re expected to believe
There was no need? He never needed us?
There’s more at stake. That long-maintained idea
Framed humankind as something grand and dark:
So strong, so breakable! That he should hear
Feels almost like a sacrifice. Then hark,
Ludwig: with all the grace we can deploy,
We hereby give you joy. An Ode to Joy.

by Chris O’Carroll

“Love your enemies”—that’s what some loser once said,
But I win with insults and vengeance instead.
I pray for more partisan hate in this land.
I pray the Lord’s name doesn’t clash with my brand.
I pray that my Christian supporters won’t see
They play with the devil by praying with me.

by Orel Protopopescu

“An Iowa Democratic caucus voter who agreed to back Pete Buttigieg
rescinded her support after learning that the former South Bend, Indiana, mayor
is gay and married to another man.”
—CNBC

First persuaded to switch to the mayor,
she’s reborn as a viral naysayer:
Are you kidding? Pete’s gay?
Give my vote back, today!
And some affable aides soon obey her.

Did I miss in the Bible, her guide,
God is love, but he stops at gay pride?
When Ms. “Geert” threw a fit,
I was forced to admit,
Not all bigots are found on Trump’s side.

by Erika Fine

Hey, Democrats, you’d better scrap
That slapped-together caucus app,
And while you’re trying things anew,
Please ditch the caucus concept too.
And why is Iowa the place
That’s first in line for every race?
I’m also totally perplexed
On why New Hampshire’s always next.
And why oh why do we denote
A Tuesday as the day to vote?
And why on earth must we succumb
Like clockwork, each quadrennium,
To people called “electors” who
We never know and never knew?
Democracy in our great land
Is often hard to understand.

by David Hedges

As Alan Dershowitz now says,
There is no law above the Prez.
King Donald, as he’ll soon be known,
Can flop upon his golden throne
And rule the universe by tweet
While toadies kneel and kiss his feet.
Once Moscow Mitch has scratched his itch,
He’ll strategize, without a glitch,
On possibilities for graft
And giving Democrats the shaft.

by Viveca Priestley

What brain infection can rewire us
to treat a power-hungry clown
as if he wears a golden crown?
It’s Washington’s corona virus.

by Julia Griffin

for Beth

“‘Extremely Obese’ Owl Rescued After Becoming Too Fat To Fly
The Suffolk Owl Sanctuary […]’s head falconer, Rufus Samkin, told the BBC that the area where the owl was found had been crawling with voles and mice due to a mild winter.
‘We think she’s just done incredibly well for herself and overindulged,’ he said.”
—The Huffington Post

The Owl and the Owlman were both at sea,
Though not in the self-same boat:
The Owlman (Rufus) was quite fat-free;
The Owl had a case of bloat.
The Owl looked up at the stars above
(She lay in a deepish ditch),
And sighed “Oh Rufus, oh Rufus my love,
That mouse was rather too rich,
Too rich,
Too rich;
That mouse was rather too rich.”

Rufus said to the Owl: “You inelegant fowl,
You’ve binged till you’re quite obese!
Come, look to your diet: it’s vain to deny it;
This gorging henceforth must cease.”
So he kept her away from her rodent buffet.
Who knows how the foodie felt?
But after a week with a monitored beak,
Her shape was slender and svelte
And svelte
And svelte:
Her shape was slender and svelte.

“Dear Owl, are you willing to limit your killing
To half?” Said the Owl, “I’ll try—“
And in token of proof, as a gesture to Rufus,
She shrugged as a bunny went by.
She dined on beans, and spinachy greens,
Which are rare in an owl’s milieu;
Then hand in hand on the Stonemarket Strand
She danced with Rufus à deux
À deux,
Adieu:
She danced with her Rufus à deux.

by Chris O’Carroll

“This wall is not something that can be really knocked down.”
—Donald Trump

“Portion of US border wall in California falls over in high winds and lands on Mexican side”
—CNN

We’re replacing the fence in Calexico
With a beautiful new border wall,
And we’re hoping the winds blow toward Mexico
If the new wall should happen to fall.

I am not really building much new wall
(Loud false claims are the name of my game).
Now that wind has made mine an askew wall,
My whole act looks like more of the same.

by Eddie Aderne

“Tate Britain has defended advertising for a head of coffee with a salary of nearly £40,000— more than the average wage of a London-based curator—after critics said the role highlights how low museum professionals’ wages are.”
—The Guardian

Tate Britain hosts a Roastery
Which (here I quote its boastery)
Is vibrant, innovative, and
Diverse. If you would understand
These epithets’ extent, they reign
Throughout the coffee value chain:
The Roasters champion all genders
Among their growers and their blenders.
The head of coffee role requires
Blending and roasting, per desires;
This innovative coffee space
Relies on you. You are its face.
While managing the bev’rage team,
You’re still responsible for cream,
And everything pertaining to
Each Tate (de-)caffeinated brew.
This vibrant business helps to fund
The Gallery, else moribund;
You might be quite surprised to learn
How much these not-for-profits earn.

by Nora Jay

“I went through a phase of carrying Camus and Sartre under my arm, thinking that would be irresistible.”
—Tracey Thorn, interviewed in The Guardian

I waited till Sartre linked arms with Camus:
Then I pounced, as you do:
Now we stroll round the Café de Flore, bras dessus
Bras dessous, bras dessous.