by Chris O’Carroll

Plan A, dismiss it as locker room chat.
Plan B, deny that I ever said that.

by Mark Granier

Mueller
the slow, gradual unspooler,
could not be cooler
or crueller.

Sanders
frowns and never meanders
off script, barely holding on by the skin
of her spin.

by Orel Protopopescu

Ryan had a little plan,
little plan, little plan,
Ryan had a little plan
to cut us at the knees.

Everywhere that Congress went,
Congress went, Congress went,
everywhere his Congress went
they lied and shot the breeze.

Why do they love their donors so,
donors so, donors so?
Why do they love their donors so?
bewildered children cried.

Why, it’s their life support you know,
sport, you know, sport, you know?
That’s the only sport they know,
their parents all replied.

by James Hamby

The jig is up, his career is through—
A liar and a traitor, too.
Flynn goaded Hillary with taunts and jeers,
Now “Lock him up!” rings in his ears.

by S.O. Fasrus

Man reached through gap between seats to grope woman on flight to Heathrow Airport—Metro

They grope on the train
and they grope in the sun,
they grope as they smoke
when they’re going for a run—
in the park, in the dark
oh they must cop a feel.
They even have a grope
when they’re out for a meal.

Grope, grope
wherever they may be,
no joke when a bloke’s on a groping spree—
it’s a smack round the chops
if they think they’re groping me
and a knee up the nads if they make so free!

by Bob McKenty

What have our Giants wrought
(By chance or by design)?
A scoring juggernought
Behind their offenseive line.

by Jerome Betts

The leopard couldn’t change his spots
Until the Army called the shots.

A coup that dared not speak its name
Has ended his and Grace’s game.

But will Zimbabwe flourish while
Their leader is a crocodile?

by Edmund Conti

It’s the same old story
That everyone knows—
In all his glory
Charlie Rose.

by Ian Graham

What can we do with Brexit
To sex it
Up?
Those cads who start at Calais
Cabal. They
Sup
On their own without us.
They doubt us.
Why?
To know us is to love us.
Don’t shove us.
Sigh.
Oh, how those wretches try us,
Deny us
Clout.
And just because we’re cleavers,
They leave us
Out.

by Orel Protopopescu

Oh I come from Alabama
with some schoolgirls on each knee…
Will you be my own sweet mama?
You look young enough for me.

McConnell wants to press reset,
but I would sooner die…
And even in my grave, still wet,
I’ll hold my pistol high!

No pajamas! This member must be free…
to screw up Alabama for religious liberty.

by Barbara Loots

“Do you still believe that the intentional
failure to remember can constitute a
criminal act?”—Hakeem Jeffries, 
as reported from the hearing
regarding Jeff Sessions’ testimony
in previous inquiring committees.

I did not intentionally fail to remember.
I did not remember to accidentally forget.
You cannot convict me of possibly telling the truth.
I have not remembered the things I’ve forgotten just yet.

I do not believe what I said when I didn’t remember.
I do not believe that forgetfulness should be a crime.
Believe me, I already feel unintentionally sorry
For what I might honestly fail to remember next time.

by Chris O’Carroll

On the one hand,
We can all understand
There’s an urge men feel deep in the bone,
But the general rule
When we polish the tool
Is that this game is best played alone.

At a party for two,
There are more than a few
Other options for touching and viewing;
When the party’s just me,
No one else needs to see
The ridiculous improv I’m doing.

I don’t care to invite
You to take in the sight
While I’m focused on auto-romancing.
It’s one guy’s private show
When I reach for, you know.
I don’t even look cool when I’m dancing.

by Julia Griffin

Demoralizing all the earth,
Two Presidents of equal worth,
In one apocalyptic spat,
Discharged the weapons “Old” and “Fat.”
The USA was deeply stung,
For Tweedledump was ever young,
A youth, a boy, a little kid,
As proved by all he said and did;
Pyongyang felt similar chagrin,
As Tweedledim was wafer-thin—
A living proof, in fact, of this
Euclidean hypothesis:
A line no wider than a thong
May still be infinitely long.

The military catalogue
Had previously stopped at “dog,”
“Fraud,” “international pariah,”
And that eternal favorite “liar”;
Now Fox could only praise and pray;
Likewise the networks of NK.
So thank the (former) KGB,
Which coaxed both heroes to agree
(Since neither could refrain from speech)
That they should have one planet each,
Identical in shape and size,
Years distant, as the rocket flies,
To do with as they reckoned fit;
And no one else need live on it.

by Ed Shacklee

Who will steer the cart?
The holes are small; the greens, long.
Playing golf is hard.

When you are a star
they let you do anything.
Not women: voters.

My name, in gilt, stamped
on building after building
as dogs piss on trees.

This house is a dump.
Why am I here—it was built
for common people.

Now that I am king,
my heels are dogged by a fool.
Look, there: that shadow.

The day I was crowned
I grew angry at the sound
of one hand clapping.

by Mae Scanlan

Da Vinci’s painting, “Savior of the World,”
On Wednesday last, at auction, was unfurled.
It fetched four hundred fifty million bucks,
And sold in less than twenty minutes. Shucks,
When I allow that figure to get tossed
Inside my brain, it’s somewhat like the cost
When Trump and some suave Middle Eastern shah go
To spend a bit of time at Mar-a-Lago.