by David Hedges
Sean Spicer was again all feet
As Dancing with the Stars wore on.
Not unexpectedly, a tweet
Was issued midway by The Don
To boost Sean’s chances in the game.
Apparently the faithful yawned
And Sean was booted off in shame.
Poor Donnie shook his magic wand,
His phone, and wondered how the spell
Was broken: Was the show a sham?
Did Democrats raise holy hell?
Was he betrayed by Lindsey Graham?
by Ruth S. Baker
“What is ‘nunchi’, the Korean secret to happiness?
In a new book, Euny Hong investigates the social ‘art of understanding’ … Koreans don’t say someone has ‘good’ nunchi, but ‘quick’ nunchi—the ability to rapidly process changing social information.”
—The Guardian
What is that prized Korean “nunchi”?
It’s something like an English hunchi:
When things are coming to the crunchi,
Quick nunchi lets you pack a punchi.
by Chris O’Carroll
“Rush $25 or more to defend President Trump and House Conservatives and we’ll send you 3 rolls of our official limited-edition Trump Christmas Wrapping Paper…”
—Republican National Congressional Committee
Trump Christmas Paper is perfect
For wrapping up taxes to hide them,
Or packaging beautiful promises
In boxes with nothing inside them.
by Nora Jay
after Eliot
“A boulder has become a bit of a rock star in Nebraska after an untold number of vehicles crashed on top of it recently, sparking an unexpected fan base.
The rock … has become Omaha’s hottest new tourist attraction thanks to a vibrant Facebook group, Reddit community, and a 5-star Google Maps rating that features photos of cars, trucks, and SUVs wedged on its perch.”
—CNN
Preserve respectful distance!
You’re fast (too fast) approaching
The Rock, whose hard consistence
Resists your crass encroaching.
The Rock predates Nebraska:
It’s not some mushroom newby;
It’s not a multi-tasker,
Nor, motorist, should you be.
by Julia Griffin
“Sea silk: the world’s most exclusive textile is being auctioned this week:
The ultra-rare material made from fibers—byssus—harvested from giant mollusks was once the height of fashion, for items such as the hat going under the hammer in New York”
—The Guardian
From out the ocean’s cool abyss
Ascends the silky byssus
To make a hat which cannot miss:
A marvel for the missus.
No worm’s secretions spark such pride;
No oyster’s are more prayed for;
Those mollusks must be mollified
By what their tresses trade for.
by James Hamby
He helped elect a man to build a wall;
Now Roger Stone will be hemmed in by four.
So here’s to all the jailbirds on Trump’s team—
Let’s hope that soon there will be several more!
by Erika Fine
Impeachment reporting suffuses the news—
Did Trump, in his phone call, abuse and misuse
His power to garner political gain,
As if global affairs were his private domain,
As if monarchy rule were the Founders’ intent,
When instead he is just what they sought to prevent?
by Nina Parmenter
McDonald’s Chief Executive, who is said to have earned over 2000 times the median wage of a McDonald’s worker, has been fired following a relationship with an employee.
We’re drowning our diners in sugar, it seems—
our food is obesity packaged as dreams!
We really don’t mind about that, sir,
it’s only some kids getting fat, sir.
We pledged to help forests! Prevent their demise!
Yet the ash of the Amazon taints our supplies.
We really don’t mind about that, sir,
let Marketing fluff it with chat, sir.
I’m paying myself way too much, say the haters—
two thousand times more than our burger creators!
We really don’t mind about that, sir,
you need that Dior for your cat, sir.
Oh yes, and I had a consensual kiss
in the stationery stores, which was slightly remiss.
We really DO mind about that, sir,
so here are your coat and your hat, sir.
by Nora Jay
after Yeats
“Joyce fans mourn loss of Dublin’s soul as developers buy House of the Dead …
[A]rtists—and artistic legacy—now face a threat from hotels, hostels and offices … More than 80 new hotel projects with names like Aloft, Central, Hyatt, Grafton, Hard Rock, Iveagh Garden, Marlin, Mayson, Radisson and Wetherspoon are at various stages of development.”
—The Guardian
A chintzy and belated end:
From ruin into fake;
For Death who takes what man would keep
Has many ways to take.
The Officers of Public Work
Had chance enough to bid,
But they did not, admitting thus
Developers, who did.
These know what ghoulish tourists crave
At table or in bed:
What will become of Dublin’s soul
Now the Dead House is dead?
I have heard it said on Google
That if we don’t act soon
All Dublin will be lost to Death,
Hard Rock, and Wetherspoon.
My expectation’s gloomy:
It’s not a pleasing blend:
Old landmarks sold, rates up threefold,
And tourists end to end.
They want red carpets for their feet,
Not Yeatsy dreams outspread!
What will become of Dublin’s soul,
Now the Dead House is dead?
by Julia Griffin
“’We risk only having respect for things insofar as they resemble human experience and characteristics,’ writes Anna Grear, among the best analysts of [the new “animism”] movement. ‘The law [instead] needs to develop a new framework in which the human is entangled and thrown in the midst of a lively materiality— rather than assumed to be the masterful, knowing centre.’”
—The Guardian
Can someone make this game work?
I’m feeling quite humangled:
The law has made a framework
In which I’ve been entangled.
You shrug this off as kids’ stuff?
I scorn your humentality:
I’m flailing in the midst of
A wild materiality!
by Julia Griffin
“Baby It’s Cold Outside rewritten by John Legend to remove ‘date-rape’ lyric …
Legend, along with lyricist Natasha Rothwell, has rewritten the song for a duet with Kelly Clarkson. An interview with Legend in Vanity Fair reveals that the new lyrics include: ‘What will my friends think…’ ‘I think they should rejoice.’ ‘…if I have one more drink?’ ‘It’s your body, and your choice.'”
—The Guardian
I really can say no. (Baby, you’re free to go.)
Not that that’s all I say— (Baby, no need to stay.)
Tempest is howling through; (Baby, it’s up to you.)
Also there’s freezing rain. (Baby, I won’t mansplain.)
Car could be quickly wrecked; (Treatin’ you with respect.)
Plus I’ve mislaid the key. (You’ve got autonomy.)
Couldn’t you smooth your voice? (Your body and your choice.)
Kind of enjoyed your drawl. (No pressure here at all.)
Say, what is in this drink? (Water. It’s from the sink.)
Didn’t I smell Merlot? (I get that No means No.)
Maybe I ought to scoot. (Baby, I won’t dispute.)
Guess I should really shift. (Baby, I’ll call a Lyft.)
Guess I should face the storm. (Baby, those boots look warm.)
Guess you’ve been sanctified! (Won’t try to override.)
Could you not sound so snide? (Look, the door’s open wide.)
Baby, it’s cold inside!
by Dan Campion
“His Unforced Verbal Fumbles Burden Biden on the Stump”
—The New York Times
“His unforced verbal fumbles burden Biden on the stump,”
A headline numbly rumbles, clumping stumbles in a lump.
Though jumbles of Joe’s bumbles tumble through a news day’s dump,
His mumbles aren’t as dumb as grumbles trumpeted by Trump.
by Chris O’Carroll
(to the tune of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game“)
Here I am at the ball game!
Why am I getting booed?
I killed the leader of ISIS today.
(The Kurds didn’t help me at all, by the way.)
Fans should cheer, cheer, cheer for my genius,
But I’m not hearing applause.
Sounds like this whole crowd’s human scum
Who think I break laws.
by Nora Jay
“Five hundred goats save the Ronald Reagan library from wildfires:
Animal team charged with eating through 13 acres of scrubland that could have fueled California’s Easy Fire”
—The Guardian
We pride our kind on being better-read;
But goats butt in where bookworms fear to tread.
So here’s a grateful toast to goats and breeders,
From Ronald Reagan’s ruminating readers.