by Edmund Conti
“At that point, it was my baby.”—William Barr, on the Mueller report
Yes sir, that’s my baby
Congress, don’t mean maybe
Yes sir, that’s my baby now
Yes, ma’am, we’ve decided
Kamala, I’m gonna hide it
Yes, ma’m, you’ve been slighted now
By the way, by the way
When I go to Congress I’ll say
Yes sir, you don’t need it
No sir, you can’t read it
Yes sir, that’s my baby now
By the way, by the way
When you call me back I’ll still say
Yes sir, that’s my baby
No sir, I don’t mean maybe
Yes sir, that’s my baby now
by Julia Griffin
“After audience with the sun goddess, Japan’s emperor Akihito prepares to abdicate”
—The Guardian
What did the Emperor say to the Sun Goddess?
No one else heard him so no one can tell;
No one else knows what ineffable languages
Passed in the grove as the long shadows fell.
All that we know is the words he expressed to us,
Standing before the Chrysanthemum Throne:
Prayers for a future serene and illustrious;
Prayers for us all, not one nation alone.
May we be granted a way to be happier;
May there be deities wishing us well!
What did the Sun Goddess say to the Emperor?
No one else heard her, so no one can tell.
by Bruce Bennett
“Motorcycle 101: New College Course Offers Students The ‘Ride Of Their Lives’ … Second-semester college students at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee now have a new favorite class to consider just in time for the start of summer: Harley-Davidson Riding Academy.'”
—PR Newswire
Shakespeare’s out!
Harley’s in!
Who can wait
to begin?
Rev that ride!
Gun that hog!
Trash them books!
Grab that grog!
by Ruth S. Baker
“The Indian army says it has discovered footprints in the Himalayas that appear to belong to a yeti, known in the United States as bigfoot or the abominable snowman.”
—NBC News
Though conscious their chances were slim,
An Army went out on a limb
And tracked a great Snowman
When formerly no man
Had captured clear traces of him.
Assumptions are all very well:
For all these bold soldiers could tell
This big hairy Yeti
Was actually Beti:
The Bombshell Abominabelle.
by Orel Protopopescu
“[Led] by parents of children with dyslexia, a learning disability that makes reading and spelling difficult, some states are trying to change how reading is taught.”
—PBS.org
Who knew that what my mother taught in nineteen fifty-two,
at P.S. 48 in Queens, would rise again, brand new?
In Eisenhower’s day, it seems, a teacher knew what worked,
not swayed by sexy theories, no matter how they twerked.
But then troops of constructivists invaded academe.
Fresh hordes of college graduates made little children scream.
Whole language was a mouthful baby teeth could barely chew,
along with other chunks of junk, now ripe for a redo.
The “writing process” method is a hit in seminars.
But kids like writing fantasy, not premature memoirs.
And while we are undoing bad ideas that drown the good,
let’s bring back fifties tax rates and give thanks to Robin Hood!
What’s next? Clean air and water? Can we manage toxic waste,
restore the thing called justice and, dare we dream, good taste?
by Julia Griffin
“Whale with harness could be Russian weapon, say Norwegian experts”
—The Guardian
Wouldst thou draw out Leviathan?
I’m sure, if thou wouldst try,
’Twould have some purpose higher than
To use him as a spy.
What proof of men’s bizarreness is
This domineering yen
To wrap a whale in harnesses
To peer at other men!
With so much more to threaten us—
The climate’s worse each day—
It seems a trifle cretinous
To spend our time this way;
But still we go safari-in’
Through snow and ice and hail,
And find a Mata Hari in
A sore Beluga whale.
by Bruce Bennett
“A new species of crab that scientists say is the ‘strangest crab that has ever lived’ has been discovered in Colombia and the United States.”
—CNN
Meet Callichimaera perplexa,
A fossil crab certain to vex a
Whole scientist team.
A fantasist’s dream!
What hubris to think one could sex a
Fantabulous creature like that!
A miracle, right off the bat.
Too bad it went missing.
Just think of them kissing!
But why don’t we leave it at that?
by Nora Jay
“Joe Biden tops Democratic field with $6.3 million haul on first day of 2020 bid”
—The Guardian
Progressives can’t abide poor Joe
Because of slips from long ago,
Yet he abides, ambitious still
Despite #MeToo and Dr. Hill.
A body has a right to bide
While lively breath remains inside;
Two slogans mark Joe’s patient climb:
Biden his Time. Biden: His Time.
by Ed Shacklee
Aretha Franklin, sounding unrehearsed,
once sang respect is given, not coerced;
but though a million radios dispersed
her urgent wisdom, eloquently versed,
beneath the beat the message was submersed.
Yet as we’d wish if roles had been reversed,
let’s give the hens respect for which they thirst
and pecks of praise, with cheering interspersed,
their kindnesses with kindness reimbursed.
Some cluck or shake their heads—their lips are pursed,
for pride’s the sour milk on which we’re nursed—
convinced that men are best when we’re the worst;
but on this day when broody chickens burst
with pride, we should, with eggs, admit: they’re first.
by Ed Shacklee
She killed her owner—a misnomer:
nor can you call her cage a home. Her
nature’s free, her aspect fierce.
Her head is blue. Her claws can pierce.
Her beak can rend, her outrage slay,
and plans will often gang aglay,
as Burns about a mouse might say.
How could a man, so old and frail,
outface a bird he kept in jail?
Though he did so to keep her safe,
how could she know; who would not chafe
to be so circumscribed and bounded?
Her kindly captor died, astounded,
within a park he’d named and founded
when, stumbling as he brought her rations,
she surpassed his expectations.
For he was kind, but she was prisoned:
though this was not what he envisioned,
she was amoral as the fairies,
and this dénouement seldom varies
when men grow fond of cassowaries.
by Catherine Chandler
King Donald tweets that he’s the Cheif,
though many, toiling in his feif-
dom know he’s just a lying theif.
O, may his crooked riegn be breif
(impeachment may provide releif)
but, should he win again . . . GOOD GREIF!!!
by Julia Griffin
“Donald Trump’s state visit to the UK set for 3 June”
—BBC News
Pity the Queen, whose royal post
Dictates which guests she has to host.
Despite a national campaign,
The Trumps will soon be here again
And who is going to suffer most?
We’ll have to hear him crow and boast;
She’ll hear him o’er the morning toast,
And never once will she complain.
Pity the Queen.
She has to smile and look engrossed
While Philip snorts some gruff riposte;
The protocol she must maintain
Forbids her to parade disdain
Like Mrs. Trump, that haughty ghost,
For this is what it means to reign.
Pity the Queen.
by Nora Jay
“Brunei defends death by stoning for gay sex in letter to EU …
In a four-page letter to MEPs, the kingdom’s mission to the EU called for ‘tolerance, respect and understanding’ with regard to the country’s desire to preserve its traditional values and ‘family lineage.’ … [The later states, in part:] ‘The penal sentences of hadd—stoning to death and amputation—imposed for offences of theft, robbery, adultery and sodomy, have extremely high evidentiary threshold, requiring no less than two or four men of high moral standing and piety as witnesses, to the exclusion of every form of circumstantial evidence.’”
—The Guardian
Please grant us some respect and understanding
For penalties which holiness condones
Like beating and beheading and behanding,
And pelting with divinely sanctioned stones.
It’s tolerance we’re asking, for such values
As whipping men who go around in frocks:
A means our wise defenders of morale use
To complement the showerings of rocks.
We only want our families protected
From sodomy, adultery, and theft;
We find, when robbers’ wrist bones are bisected,
They’re much more honest with the half that’s left.
Don’t fancy execution will come easy:
Four witnesses, male, pious, and unbent,
Must testify, though horrified and queasy,
To each depraved, disgusting incident;
With evidential threshholds for conviction
Established thus so dizzyingly high,
Let none (however sexually sick) shun
The luxury hotels of chaste Brunei.
by Ruth S. Baker
“’Anna Delvey,’ Fake Heiress who Swindled N.Y.’s Elite, is Found Guilty”
—The New York Times
She partied with the richest belles
(Her chutzpah was sublime),
Till, after buying so much else,
She could not buy more time.
by Julia Griffin
“Police seize ‘super obedient’ lookout parrot trained by Brazilian drug dealers. …
The bird joins a growing list of animals implicated in Brazil’s drug trade, although most have been reptiles.“
—The Guardian
A sinister psittacine skill
Developed in sunny Brazil
Is to let out a whoop
When the constables swoop
In pursuit of some criminal pill.
These parrots are heterodox,
And thinking outside of the box;
For the drug-pushers’ list
Is supposed to consist
Of carnivorous gators and crocs.
