by Jerome Betts
“England centre back John Stones
has described Colombia as ‘the
dirtiest team I’ve ever played against.’”
— The Guardian
Although against their captain’s shirt
Jules Rimet’s cup would not be nestling,
One team found balm to soothe the hurt—
They’d clearly come out top in wrestling.
by James Higgins
How did words originate? What theory charts the birth?
In bow-wow theory, Man apes sounds all ‘round—for all he’s worth.
In pooh-pooh theory, Man responds to worry or surprise
or pain or fear. (In pooh-pooh theory, that’s how words arise.)
In ding-dong theory, Man reverberates with Nature’s tone.
(Of all the theories, ding-dong seems the one most overblown.)
In ta-ta theory, like the one we know as yo-heave-ho,
Man’s tongue mimes gestures made while he hoes yet another row.
In la-la-theory, Man’s inspired by playfulness and love.
Now one new theory’s superseded all of the above.
In womp-womp theory, language starts when misanthropic men
poke fun at children’s suffering. It’s happening again.
by Mark Granier
Pruitt
muttered “Screw it”
as the environment
celebrated his retirement.
Cohen,
seemingly, has grown
to finally understand the score
and who not to take a bullet for.
Shine
has joined the line
shadowing each sycophant
where the sun can’t.
by Rhina P. Espaillat
To make sure that the richest stay rich,
to leave everyone else in a ditch,
starve the poor, and screw labor
and our copper-skinned neighbor,
let’s all stick to this son of a bitch!
by Mae Scanlan
to the tune of “Gonna Take a Sentimental Journey”
I just took a monumental journey
On Air Force One to Singapore;
‘Twas not Barack, or Hillary or Bernie,
No, it was ME! I warded off war!
This Kim Jong Un, he’s got a lot of talent;
I sized him up, like, one, two, three.
We made a deal, and he was very gallant;
I like J.U., and he likes me.
Rockets?
They’re no longer on his dockets;
I’ve got Kim in both my pockets;
These aren’t just flukes—
He’s quashing his nukes!
I’m very proud of how I have succeeded;
The Nobel Prize will soon be mine.
I’m just exactly what this country needed;
I may just be (don’t laugh) DIVINE.
by James Hamby
I said “dictator”
But I swear I’m no hater;
We all make mistakes in the booth.
I didn’t mean to suggest
Trump isn’t the best:
And I’m sorry for telling the truth.
by Bruce Bennett
He won’t invite the Eagles.
He bans the NBA.
But Justify’s a winner.
Who knows? Perhaps today
He’ll welcome to the White House
a champion with class,
and we will see him paired with
another horse’s ass.
by Orel Protopopescu
This lawsuit shouldn’t trouble any members of Trump’s base.
A hundred phony charities won’t loosen their embrace.
His troops of weary lawyers may declare in his defense:
Trump’s tragic deficits required his own benevolence.
by Edmund Conti
“You could have the best hotels in the world right there.”—Trump to Kim
There’s a small hotel
In a place like Hell
I wish you two were there together
There’s a place to tweet
One room bright and neat
Where you can comb your hair together
Looking through the window
You can see a new Trump Tower
What a sign of power! Yours, mine, our.
When the ocean breeze
Says you’re going to freeze
You’ll smile and both say “cheese” together.
by Dan Campion
Pardon me, bud,
Is that the Mar-a-Lago choo choo?
Track four-to-nine?
Pal, just levy a fine.
I can afford
To board the Mar-a-Lago choo choo.
I’ve got my fare.
Prosecute if you dare.
You leave the Lincoln Bedroom ’bout a quarter to four,
Read your Twitter feed and then you’re out the front door.
Dinner full of starches
Under golden arches,
You’ll get there by limousines, not cell block marches.
When you hear the Secret Service burble last straw,
Then you know for sure that you’re above common law.
Shovel all the chips in;
Let clowns get their quips in.
Whoo, whoo, Mar-a-Lago pardon’s our draw.
There’s gonna be
A certain pardon at the White House,
Up-my-sleeve ace
I used to call “a disgrace.”
Justice may weep
Until I put the old gal to sleep.
So Mar-a-Lago choo choo,
Like throne bearers in Rome,
Mar-a-Lago choo choo,
Won’t you choo choo me home?
by Julia Griffin
(with apologies to Tennyson)
“White House press secretary Sarah Huckabee Sanders called the remark ‘vile and vicious.’ On Wednesday, [Samantha] Bee again said she ‘crossed a line.’ She admitted she used the phrase many times, hoping to ‘reclaim it.’ ‘The problem is, many women have heard that word at the worst moments of their lives,’ Bee said. ‘A lot of them don’t want that word reclaimed, they want it gone. And I don’t blame them. … Many men were also offended by use of the word. I do not care about that.”—CBS News
Censure and brouhaha,
And one clear call for me!
But may there be no moaning from Ms. Barr
If I’m still on TV:
Unless the USA is all asleep,
With no attention span,
You surely won’t compare me with that creep,
Racist Roseanne.
No way. I’ve never blamed
The women who piled on:
A lot of them don’t want that word reclaimed,
They want it gone;
To them I send apologies (not men).
Sorry. Now please don’t whine;
The Pilot’s aired long since—I’m here again.
Who says I’ve crost the line?
by Orel Protopopescu
Let them dig! The world will see
there’s no charge that sticks to me.
List the people that I stiffed,
all the titled toffs I miffed,
all the wives who loved my dough…
(Few were mine, but who’s to know?)
I got ego. I got id.
I forget the stuff I did.
Where’s my sin against mankind?
I’m pre-pardoned. Never mind.
Drag your kids through hill and dale?
You should lose them. Go to jail.
Laws are made to be enforced.
DACA, caca, eat my borscht.
(Not that I like Russian stuff.
Stop the witch hunt. That’s enough!)
No one grills me. I decline.
I’m above all laws but mine.
by Mae Scanlan
Lousy pickins’; hatred quickens;
Decent people takin’ lickins’;
These Republicans are chickens;
This plot thickens; this plot sickens.
by Gregory Palmerino
D U M
P T R
U M P
by Dan Campion
The CDC says: Ticks! Beware.
It’s time to spritz on DEET.
I spray my socks, my shirt, my hair,
Check arms and legs and feet.
But still, I feel a tickle here,
A micro-tickle there.
These nervous tics will teem, I fear,
Till frost nips at the air.