by Gail White
Orcas have begun to wear dead salmon as hats, a trend not seen since the 80s.
—multiple sources
Killer whales are lately found
wearing hats in Puget Sound.
Large and shiny, curled or flat,
salmon is the favored hat.
Orcas envy every friend
who can sport this fashion trend.
So what if salmon goes to waste?
There are other kinds of “taste.”
Soon, from Maine to South Majorca,
we’ll see hats on every orca.
by Julia Griffin
“‘A very poor idea’: Julia Roberts rejected Richard Curtis’s proposed Notting Hill divorce sequel.
[However,] Hugh Grant was happy to prove the lie of a happy ending for his ‘despicable’ character”
—The Guardian
When William and Anna tied the knot in Notting Hill,
A world of women wept with joy. Myself, I’m weeping still
To think that Anna—hugely rich, divine in every limb,
And famous as the Moon—should find a man as nice as him:
A man for whom his little sister’s birthday had more worth
Than some enchanted evening with the hottest date on earth;
Whose oath was “Whoopsy-Daisy!” and default reaction “Sorry”—
How fortunate the film star who could capture such a quarry!
But now it seems their author, far from being so bewitched,
Was planning out a sequel where the two would be unhitched;
And Hugh, once Will, applauded this, envisaging with glee
Unhappy children, lawyers’ tricks, and all-round misery.
So honor Anna-Julia, who still can recognize
That niceness isn’t something that the married should despise,
And gentle bookmen don’t deserve your taking of the mickey—
Not even if your bio rates 12,000 words on Wiki.
To do so ranks among those very poor ideas which
Are no less often to be found among the very rich:
A sneeriness whose value proved to be precisely nil
When William and Anna tied the knot in Notting Hill.
by Chris O’Carroll
“I was at the bottom of my class. I started doing heroin, and I went to the top
of my class. Suddenly I could sit still, and I could read and I could concentrate.
I could listen to what people were saying.”
—Robert F. Kennedy, Jr.
A shot is bad, the new health czar is keen
To tell us, when that shot is a vaccine,
But we can amp our grades if we begin
As he did, with a hit of heroin.
by Philip Kitcher
Renaissance nobles stocked a cabinet
with scientific curiosities,
odd objects from around the world—and yet
not half as curious as these.
by Ruth S. Baker
“Elusive deer spotted wearing high-vis jacket in Canada: ‘Who is responsible?’”
—The Guardian
Said Santa: “I’ve waited an eon
For deer to get jackets of neon!
A single red nose
Can’t do much in big snows:
And as for a logo, put me on.”
by Alex Steelsmith
“‘I practiced orthopedic surgery for almost 45 years and originally used plaster casts for fractures. Now, every orthopedist
uses fiberglass casts—an entirely different technique…'”
—BuzzFeed
Dated, fated,
casts of plaster
have at last been
cast aside.
Orthopedists
say the die is
cast; the plaster
cast has died.
*This is (to our knowledge) the second-ever published double trochee. The first is here, and Alex’s guidelines for writing one are here. — Eds.
by Steven Kent
“Leading Republican strategist rebukes Trump for bringing ‘chaos’ back”
—The Guardian
Such bad appointments—quite a trove—
And chaos, too, claims Karl Rove.
Election fraud, corruptive guile
Demand a certain sense of style:
It’s fine to trample every norm
As long as there’s a show of form.
Subvert the Constitution, yes,
But goodness, man, don’t make a mess!
by Nora Jay
“Female astronaut goes to space but can’t escape online sexism by ‘small men’”
—The Guardian
After William Allingham
Up beyond the airspace,
Past the oxygen,
We daren’t go a-posting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, he-folk,
Typing all alone,
Certain that a spaceship
Needs testosterone.
In their parents’ basements,
See them brood, distraught,
On that oxymoron:
“Female astronaut,”
We could post from Pluto
Or Orion’s Den:
Still we’d hear the hate from
Brittle little men.
by Dan Campion
“Here Is the Date When Life on Earth Will End, Long Before the Sun Explodes”
—Daily Galaxy
Long, long before the Sun explodes
(Five billion years or so),
Not even roaches, mites, and toads
Will thrive. Where can we go,
In several hundred million years,
Instead of being baked?
We’ll cook in place. As Hades nears,
We’ll say the heat is faked.
by Marshall Begel
“[P]olice arrest a cigarette smuggler disguised as a [hyacinth] water plant as he tries to cross a river
from Paraguay to Argentina.”
—Daily Mail
Sneakily, peekily
Paraguay snorkeler
Smuggling cigarettes
Ended up caught.
Is this a workable
Entrepreneurial
Business scenario?
Certainly not.
Officers saw through his
Invisibility—
Maybe the hyacinth
Captured their notice?
Modification of
Biomaterials
May improve camouflage—
Next time, try lotus.
by Stephen Gold
“Gin and tonic overtakes cup of tea as Britain’s favorite drink.”
—The Times
Tea used to be my drink of choice,
I thought of booze as sin.
But then I found (Rejoice! Rejoice!)
The wondrous world of gin.
My folks, of course, have cut up rough
That I have “gone astray.”
But why? I only drink the stuff
A dozen times a day.
Don’t ask me, please, to tea for two.
A glass of Gilbey’s, chilled,
Will always beat that feeble brew,
And that’s my view, distilled.
by Chris O’Carroll
The first AG the big guy designaetz
Has problematic habits when he daetz
(He and the boss might make ideal cellmaetz).
As word about his frat-boy traetz creaetz
PR nightmares, his case disintegraetz.
by Susan McLean
“Vladimir Shklyarov, Russian ballet star, dies aged 39 after falling from building”
—The Guardian
Shklyarov, a dancer of great talents
who had condemned the war against Ukraine,
died in a fall because he lost his balance
(as ballet dancers are so wont to do)
on a high balcony. You’d best refrain
from knocking what your leader does, or you
may find that you have lost your balance, too.
by Dan Campion
“Physicists Shed Light on Precise Shape of Single Photon”
—Sci.News
That science sheds new light on light
Should not surprise or shock us.
But “Some are Born to Endless Night”
And grope through ceaseless ruckus;
There’s more of them, it seems, these days.
However, hope shines bright.
Behold Aurora’s least displays:
Each photon in its flight
Conforms to laws and does not cheat
Nor sneak nor snarl nor sneer.
A photon’s true and strong and fleet,
A star by which to steer.
by Marshall Begel
“Thailand’s baby pygmy hippo Moo Deng now has an official song…”
—The Associated Press
They come by car, arrive in trains,
They sail by ocean ship-O,
To see the pup who entertains:
Moo Deng the pigmy hippo!
So I composed her special tune—
A charming, winsome trip-O,
And if you want to hear me croon,
Hold up your lighted Zippo.
Now everybody, sing along,
And let it really rip-O!
If anyone enjoyed my song,
Be sure to leave a tip-O.