by Dan Campion

“Two completely separate objects that are now joined together…”
—Scientist S. Alan Stern, describing Ultima Thule, a “contact binary” celestial body

As kids, they were unruly.
Then Ultima met Thule.
Now, to the envy of their peers,
Their wedding anniversary nears:
Together for five billion years.

by Mae Scanlan

Our president, the nonstop clown,
Says anything he wants to, yup.
The government would not shut down
If he would just shut up!

by Julia Griffin

“[A ton] of chocolate flows out of factory in Westönnen, coating the pavement”
—The Guardian

Streets paved with gold? Too avant-garde.
With milk and honey? Bland.
With good intentions? Much too hard;
But this I understand.

A pavement with a cocoa coat
Secures my animated vote:
If I were on that German street,
I’d find a way to lick my feet.

by Brendan Beary

“Sarah Huckabee Sanders Wants to Be Remembered as ‘Transparent and Honest'”
—Newsweek

“…And I am Marie of Roumania.”
—Dorothy Parker

I’m making big bucks as a poet,
Like no poet ever before;
No editor ever rejects what I write—
In fact, many beg me for more.

Self-consciousness never afflicts me;
My carefree, relaxed joie de vivre
Enlivens the parties I love to attend
(And never seek reasons to leave).

For these are the times that we live in:
All claims are as true as you want.
I’m brusque and aloof, but will soon be recalled
As being a great bon vivant.

Beginner’s luck ever my partner,
Whatever I try comes with ease.
I have the aroma of lilacs in May
On occasion of cutting the cheese.

And our world’s a utopian wonder,
As Sarah H. Sanders makes plain—
For she is transparent and honest and true,
And I am Juan Carlos of Spain.

by Edmund Conti

“Tumblr will bar all adult content starting December 17″—The Verge

Did looking at Tumblr once trouble you
Because it was NSFW?
It will now be no longer explicit.
Raise your hands if you’ll miss it.

by Ruth S. Baker

“Roger, the Ripped Kangaroo and ‘True Icon,’ has died”—CNN International

Today we said a hushed adieu
To Roger, called the Alpha Roo:
His weight was 89 kg,
His fans 1 million point 3,
His height six foot, unbowed his head,
His neck appropriately red
From rubbing trees—thus making known
That all his wives were his alone.

Oh Roger! You would flex your pecs
As few marsupials could flex;
No less impressive were your abs,
Which stood out proud like hairy slabs.
Before your bold and beefy stance,
The toughest types would turn askance—
Or else they’d rapidly intuit:
Risk rudeness with ripped roos, you’ll rue it.

by Dan Campion

The second Voyager has left
The solar atmosphere.
Will altered cosmic warp and weft
Affect our life down here?

A butterfly in Yucatán,
Some say, can change the world.
If chaos has a sportive plan,
Let’s see that scroll unfurled,

Our little fleet send back good news
That ETs will not bite,
And, rife with talent to amuse,
Contribute verse to Light.

by Julia Griffin

“A 2,000-year-old Roman statuette of a silver-eyed goddess Minerva that for more than a decade was kept in a plastic margarine tub is among a record number of treasure discoveries made by the nation’s army of metal detectorists.”—The Guardian

How long had she been waiting, far from home,
Proud posture and immortal silver stare,
When an enthusiast trepanned the loam
In a dim Oxford field, and struck her there?
He brushed her gently: from her leaden dress
Dropped years of earth. How many, though? How long?
Resisting hope, he made a prudent guess
And called her Modern Copy. He was wrong.
He put her in a plastic tub, once packed
With Flora margarine; her moment past,
She lay forgotten, verdigrised and cracked,
For ten more years, till somebody at last
Glanced in and found her—this unlooked-for prize:
Flora-Minerva, of the silver eyes.

by Nora Jay

“Statue of ‘racist’ Gandhi removed from University of Ghana”—The Guardian

They’re finished with Gandhi in Ghana:
His statue’s been razed from its place,
To punish the sainted Brahmana
For nasty remarks about race.

In Oxford, meanwhile, he’s still dandy:
As fondness for empire implodes,
The students want statues of Gandhi
Instead of the statues of Rhodes.

Sic gloria transit humana.
But could we just ask, ere we chop,
Are they sore about Cecil in Ghana?
Or is there a chance of a swap?

by Julia Griffin

“We have now found juvenile seals with eels stuck in their noses on multiple occasions.”
—Facebook page of the Hawaiian Monk Seal Research Program

We find this week that youthful seals
Have taken to inhaling eels—
Or else we’re seeing eels spelunk
Their way through seals’ phlegmatic gunk.
There’s photographic evidence
Of something’s loss of common sense,
As humankind (for once some use)
Does all it can to tug them loose.
What is the cause of this new fad?
Perhaps the beasts are going mad;
Or maybe it’s a staged tableau
To show how far both kinds will go.
Remember, though our race supposes
There’s something gross in eels-up-noses,
We’ve found no universal rule
For what the young believe is cool.

by Edmund Conti

“Former Attorney General William Barr is Trump’s leading contender for AG”—The Hill

For this, I’ve no ambition.
I ought to let it pass.
But I’ll take the position
To save the boss’s ass.

by Ruth S. Baker

“In a dazzling discovery, fossils brought up from a mine in Wee Warra, near the Australian outback town of Lightning Ridge, belong to the newly named dinosaur species Weewarrasaurus pobeni. The animal, which was about the size of a Labrador retriever, walked on its hind legs and had both a beak and teeth for nibbling vegetation. A type of dinosaur known as an ornithopod, Weewarrasaurus may have moved in herds or small groups for protection.”—National Geographic

The climate’s shot:
The poles are hot,
The seas are spoiled and yeasty;
What have we got?
A knack, that’s what
(More sciency than priesty),
For bringing round
From underground
The dead and gone—at least, we
Out back have found
This fossil-bound
Weewarrasaurus beastie!

“Ornithopod!
If I were God,
You’d live,” I sighed; then smarted
As, with an odd
Sarcastic nod
He spoke, like one re-started:
“Your grief is worth
No more than mirth:
But if you’re tender-hearted,
And long for dearth
To pause on earth,
It’s time your kind departed.”

by Brendan Beary

George Bush now lies in state—
Stark contrast, I suppose;
The guy who’s POTUS now
Lies everywhere he goes.

by Julia Griffin

“NYPD to return British couple’s engagement ring lost after proposal”
—The Guardian

A ring on the hand
May be quite sacramental,
But sergeants are a girl’s best friend;

A ring may be grand,
But it’s not worth a lentil
For a tender date
Once down the grate
In New York State:

She freaks out
While he’s in doubt
How much more she expects him to spend;

But, Flatbush to Flat Street,
You can’t beat those Flatfeet!
And sergeants are a girl’s best friend.

There may be some types
Who say “Let’s just forget it”:
But sergeants are a girl’s best friend;

It may be old pipes
May seem much much too fetid:
But these Cops say: Dive!
And then high-five,
As this goes live:

Grates get cold,
Intentions fold,
And we all slope off home in the end;

So let’s bow the knee to
The NYPD crew!
For sergeants are a girl’s best friend.

by Orel Protopopescu

(After “We Kiss in a Shadow,” Rogers and Hammerstein)

We meet on the sidelines.
We hide from the press.
Our meetings are few,
but more might be less.

We speak in a whisper
afraid of the spies
on your side and mine,
so make love with our eyes.

Alone with our secrets,
we barely touch hands—
mine small, but they still hold big keys.

Who locked up the future
for your sake and mine,
as temperatures rose by degrees?
Come rise, Vlad, on towers of sleaze!