Mike Pence “wrote in his book that he told Trump, ‘You know, I don’t think I have the authority to change the outcome’ of the election on Jan. 6. But Pence allegedly told Smith’s investigators that the comma should have never been placed there. According to sources, Pence told Smith’s investigators that he actually meant to write in his book that he admonished Trump, ‘You know I don’t think I have the authority to change the outcome,’ suggesting Trump was well aware of the limitations of Pence’s authority days before Jan. 6…” —ABC News
So, did he know
he was guilty, or not?
One little comma
can matter a lot.
“Bristol Airport under fire over ‘bus shelter’ prayer room” —The Independent
Even though I’m a very nervous flyer,
I don’t think I would say a prayer to God.
It’s not I don’t believe in something higher.
I’m not afraid my friends would think I’m odd.
I don’t care if the room is like a shelter.
I don’t care if I have to stand and queue.
I’m not afraid I’d meet a Bible Belter.
It’s if I met the Captain and the crew.
“Young humpback whale leaps out of Seattle bay dazzling onlookers The whale breached for about 40 minutes, also performing several pectoral fin slaps and dives…” —The Guardian
A young humpback whale erupts from the Bay,
With pectoral fin slaps and dives,
Eclipsing the ships with its crazy display,
Its foamy cetacean high-fives.
And there, on the iPad or phone or TV,
While prices and politics spike,
A lone living creature shows all who can see
What happiness still might be like.
“Officials estimate that about 170 hippos… now roam Colombia, and the population could grow to 1000 by 2035, posing a serious threat to the country’s ecosystem.” —The New York Times
Within this Latin nation,
by 2035,
the hippopopulation
could be in overdrive.
The numbers keep on soaring
and posing threats of doom
with hippocrits ignoring
the hippo in the room.
Who knows where this is leading?
We have a lot to lose,
so daily I’ll be reading
the hippopotenews.
“Scientists say mystery of how red wine headaches occur may be solved… A flavanol called quercetin… is processed in the body into various substances. One of these, quercetin glucuronide, turned out to be particularly effective at blocking the enzyme that converts acetaldehyde into acetate.” —The Guardian
A flavanol known as quercetin,
As is clear to the veriest cretin,
Turns its glucuronide
On acetaldehyde,
Which explains why red wine does your tête in.
“Agency workers turn [invasive] carp into double agents by capturing them, implanting transmitters and tossing them back. … Carp often clump in schools in the spring and fall. Armed with the traitor carp’s location… anglers can head to that spot, drop their nets and remove multiple [invasive] fish from the ecosystem.” —Associated Press
I’ve gathered together the carp of our shoal
Because I suspect we are hiding a mole!
I don’t think that I’m overstating the threat—
There’s too many times we’ve encountered the net.
Now, Hook-Lip, I’m confident you’re not the spy.
I’ve swum next to you since before we were fry!
The Silver-Fin Brothers may have their own school,
But that doesn’t make them a fisherman’s tool.
Antenna-Head, here, has been scouting around,
But says there aren’t obvious clues to be found.
So keep alert—it’d be a shame if we built a
Community just to be ground to gefilte!
“Can we grow veggies on Mars? Fly larvae and synthetic soil may hold the answer” —NPR
Can we grow veggies on Mars?
Of course we can; we’re Ceres’ stars.
To help us not starve, we
Just need some fly larvae
Plus payloads of pint mason jars.
“Orcas Sink Fourth Boat Off Iberia, Unnerving Sailors” —The New York Times
Call me Ishmael. Sure, okay,
Whatever, dude—just tend the sail.
Captain swears at last today
We’re finally gonna catch that whale.
Ahab’s not all there, you know,
But me, I never make a fuss.
Ish, man, what’s that noise below?
Oh God, the whale is chasing us!
“Lion escapes from [Italian] circus and roams the streets leaving locals terrified…” —Metro News
Escaping from the circus roamed a lion, close to Rome,
deciding Ladispoli was the town that he’d call home.
He strutted while he salivated. Flocks of people fled.
“Lock your doors and windows. Mamma mia, we’ll be dead!”
The citizens misunderstood the presence of this beast
by thinking he was hunting them as targets for his feast.
The lion had no hunger for the folks in Ladispoli.
His roar was for risotto with a side of ravioli.
“’It never ends’: the book club that spent 28 years reading Finnegans Wake …
This November they started back again on page three.”
—The Guardian
Some years ago, we set our course along the riverrun;
for nearly fifteen hundred weeks, we’ve read without a break.
A clever crossmess parzel can bring endless hours of fun.
The best thing in our reading lives turns out to be … our Wake!
Both HCE and ALP have triggered fits of glee;
some chuckled most at Shaun the Post, and some at Shem the Pen.
We’re trapped in Vico’s cycles, and we cannot wriggle free.
What next to read to meet our need? … Let’s feast on Finn, again!
