by Barbara Loots
“An Indian woman who gave birth to twin girls is believed to be
the oldest person to ever give birth after having the babies
at the age of 73.”—UPI
I’ve cuddled ’em, Auntied ’em
gifted and kissed ’em.
But birthed ’em? Not ever.
And I haven’t missed ’em.
In 2019, I’ll hit 73
with never a yearning,
and motherhood-free.
So Darwin et al
please accept my apologies:
the best of me’s left in
assorted anthologies.
by Julia Griffin
Last month in Texas, twenty-nine
Were shot, but Wayne LaPierre is fine.
To NOAA’s shock, the stormy weather
Missed Alabama altogether.
There’s H2O quite plastic-free
On planet K2-18B. …
Although some news may foster gloom
(The Irish Backstop, algae bloom),
If due attention is applied,
There always is a brighter side:
The Amazon is turning molten;
Still, Donald Trump has sacked John Bolton.
by Nora Jay
“A French company has been found liable for the death of an employee who had a cardiac arrest while having sex with a stranger on a business trip. … The man, named as Xavier X, was working as an engineer for TSO, a railway services company based near Paris.
He died at a hotel during a trip to central France in 2013, as a result of what the employer called ‘an extramarital relationship with a perfect stranger’.
The company challenged a decision by the state health insurance provider to regard the death as a workplace accident.
The provider defended its position by insisting that sexual activity was normal, ‘like taking a shower or a meal’.
In its ruling, the Paris appeals court upheld this view.”
—BBC
An engineer named Xavier (known widely as XX)
Was finished by a heart-attack, confounding top execs;
He died upon a business trip, while busy (one might say);
And so his health insurers thought his company should pay.
The company objected (with regrets about his heart)
That in that piece of business his employers had no part;
“’Twas normal!” the insurers urged, “so compensation’s due;”
And France’s top judiciary upheld this point of view:
It was a workplace accident that claimed your employee:
He accidentally succumbed to life’s normality,
And workplace liability applies to normal dangers,
Like taking showers and eating meals and having sex with strangers.
by Mark Granier
Pence
was seen to become tense
on hearing Trump pronounce
him “Pounce.”
by Ruth S. Baker
“‘Ding, dong, it’s time’: dancing tarantulas emerge in droves to mate in western US”
—The Guardian
He shuffles, he shimmies, he kicks with each leg
To render true tribute, and also to beg:
For this is the season when arthropods all
Respond to the ardor of Venus’s call,
And every arachnid who thinks he’s a man
Must dance for the ladies and catch as catch can.
In truth, though, the female’s a cultureless lump.
She’ll yawn and chew flies at the artfulest jump,
As if to say “Really?” or even “Yeah, right.”
But if a staunch suitor can muster his might
And conquer her crudeness and absence of class,
He may be successful, and then—O alas …
How loathsome’s the lot of the gentleman spider:
To mate with a savage, and end up inside ’er.
by Dan Campion
“Asteroid that wiped out dinosaurs had power of 10 billion atomic bombs: study”
—New York Post
You probably could kill the dinosaurs
With just 9 billions’ worth of kilotons.
Our overzealous cosmos never bores:
So many frogs’ eggs, grains of sand, moons, suns—
A plethora of pistils, stamens, spores!
And wayward rocks routine as misplaced guns.
by Nora Jay
“When I got my hands on a precious copy of Margaret Atwood’s The Testaments a couple of days ago I was surprised by the almost physical hunger I felt to step back into Gilead.”
—The Guardian
Is there a balm in Gilead?
I doubt that that’s the goal:
Each little bleak and chilly ad
Shows balm’s gone far AWOL.
If you can preach like Margaret,
If you out-pray #MeToo,
You are this novel’s targ(r)et;
It’s written just for you:
Handmaids should not be frilly, add:
That’s not their rightful role;
Gloom is the game in Gilead.
Just ask a Hulu poll.
by Jerome Betts
“The spears in my back won’t be from you,
they’ll come from the Spartans.”
—Boris Johnson to pro-EU Tories
Among those Spartans on the books,
Your fellow-chancers, Great Proroguer,
Beware of lean and hungry looks
And keep in mind that blood-stained toga.
by Ruth S. Baker
“A deliveryman in New York has been accused of stealing $90,000 worth of cake. David Lliviganay, an employee of Lady M Confections, is said to have smuggled 1,020 of their cakes out of their Long Island City warehouse … [There] was apparently a robust secondary black market for crêpes with little rabbits on them … according to a lawsuit filed by the company.”
—The Guardian
This week the reporters unite to condemn
An ex-employee of the firm Lady M,
Who pinched from it pastries in plenty—by plenty,
I mean, more precisely, 1,020.
A video camera saw him abscond
With mousses, millefeuilles, and crêpes à la ronde,
To name just a few of these wonderful cakes,
Now stamped with a bunny, to guard against fakes.
Who wouldn’t be tempted? These edibles reach
At market a total of 90 bucks each:
For such is their lusciousness, lightness, and lift,
They drive from the mind every notion of thrift.
If offered a Lady M crème, you should nab it:
They’re worth every penny, if just for the rabbit.
by Julia Griffin
“The ‘Lovers of Modena’, a pair of skeletons so called because they were buried hand-in-hand, were both men, researchers have found.”
—The Guardian
Deep in Romagna, two have lain
Say experts, fifteen hundred years.
That’s not unique. What’s special here’s
A feature all can understand:
Though shrunk to bones, the two maintain
The pose of lovers, hand in hand.
They have no faces left to blur
Nor names, those sweethearts under ground;
But lately new research has found
Something surprising: up till then,
We had believed them him and her;
It now it appears they both were men.
So have we understood amiss?
We called it love, but should it be
Two soldiers’ camaraderie?
Were they two brothers? All the powers
Of science teach us only this:
What will survive of us is ours.
by Orel Protopopescu
“Though most Americans probably missed Trump’s false claim … that Alabama was likely to be hit by Hurricane Dorian, he spent the rest of the week highlighting his own embarrassing mistake, touting a map that had clearly been altered with a Sharpie, then repeatedly complaining that the media owes him an apology.”—New York Magazine
Oh, I came out from my Mamma with a Sharpie in my hand.
When I looked at Alabama, I made Dorian expand.
Alabama! Oh, don’t you blush for me!
Got no votes from the Bahamas. You’re my top priority.
I had a dream the other night, the storm obeyed my will,
but when I woke, the fake news said, it’s going northward still.
That made the comics laugh at me and score their stupid points,
but good folks in Alabama won’t stop oiling all my joints.
Alabama! Don’t you weep for me!
I will say your name forever till the idiots agree.
by Julia Griffin
“Germany celebrates birth of rare twin pandas at Berlin zoo
[The] cubs will be returned to China once they no longer need their mother. But for now, Berlin is celebrating.”
—The Independent
O strike the sweet Harmonium
And blow the big Euphonium:
The panda fandom crowds the pen—
But all we’ve got’s a loan.
Accept our testimonium:
The Zoo’s in pandemonium:
We’ll have to hand ’em over—then
Prepare for Panda Moan.
by Jerome Betts
(A team of scientists have been
analyzing DNA traces in Loch Ness.)
Her story stirs the human mind
So strongly it seems almost real.
How sad that scientists should find
She might be just a giant eel!
by Julia Griffin
“The 17-month-old girl who was shot [in Odessa, TX] was identified by family friends as Anderson Davis. … Anderson’s mother … said her daughter’s vital signs were good and that she had shrapnel in her chest, her front teeth had been knocked out, and she had a hole through her bottom lip and tongue. But Anderson was alive, she wrote, which was ‘a prayer answered bigger than I’ve ever had to pray.'”
—The New York Times
“Gun laws were loosened in Texas the day after the state’s second mass shooting in a month.”
—Vox
What news of baby Anderson? It isn’t of the best:
She’s bullets through her lip and tongue and shrapnel in her chest;
But hear her mother speak of it—the words she finds to say:
A prayer answered bigger than I’ve ever had to pray.
The standard type of monster made the usual rampage:
He murdered seven people, of a lengthy range of age,
But Anderson survived it, and her mother blessed the day:
A prayer answered bigger than I’ve ever had to pray.
The Lord is unpredictable—on that we can agree
But anyone can well predict what Texas law will be,
And no one’s counting blessings like the godly NRA:
A prayer answered, bigger than I’ve ever had to pray.
by David Hedges
Dear Vladimir, my bosom buddy Vlad,
The Faux News media have found me out.
I fear my situation’s looking bad.
My re-election chances are in doubt.
I’ve danced whenever you have pulled my strings,
Turned allies into foes and foes to friends,
Stirred discontent at home, and other things.
Your rubles have paid handsome dividends.
I may request asylum—are you on?
Your faithful and devoted servant, Don
Dear Donald, Comrade Don as you prefer,
I take it you are seeking my support.
You’re found out as a phony—a poseur.
I’d like to help, but I’m a little short.
The world is being primed for Russian rule.
My oligarchs and I have work to do.
We’ll find another dupe who’ll play the fool.
Truth is, we have no further use for you.
No hair spray, dressed in orange—be of good cheer
In prison! Do svidaniya, Vladimir