by James Hamby
Mix a lawyer, a launderer,
A sleazy business guy;
Combine with a translator
and an ex-Soviet spy;
Stir in three Trump cronies
Who hold the most power;
Blend them well together
High in Trump Tower;
Say it was about adoption
And no other reason;
And there’s your collusion!
(With a dash of treason.)
by Jerome Betts
The new leader for UK Lib Dems
In that ruinous pile by the Thames?
A vintage Vince Cable
Who brings to the table
Mature clout like some Château d’Yquems!
by Dan Campion
He’s elbowed Rod, he’s kneeing Jeff,
He’s whispering with Vlad.
He’s staring down his coach, the ref,
The sports reporters. Sad!
He used to dribble, rebound, pass,
And shoot within his range.
Now way outside it, he’s an ass
His own teammates think strange.
It’s time to trade this guy, for sure.
Which franchise, though, would take him?
And then, who’ll keep the game astir
When gods of Sport forsake him?
by Susan McLean
Body and soul are fed by wheat,
the Bible tells us. Jesus ate
wheat bread, so that’s what we must eat
for him to transubstantiate.
Low-gluten wafers there may be,
so long as they have wheat as well,
but Jesus can’t be gluten free.
You celiacs can go to hell.
by Chris O’Carroll
So the Russians have dirt
That could help put some hurt
On the Hillary Clinton campaign?
Exclaims Junior Don,
“I love it.” Game on.
Screw ethics. Team Trump stands to gain.
When the press blows the whistle,
Don sneers a dismissal:
Reports about Russia are “lies.”
He’s a well-tutored youth
Whose disdain for the truth
Defines the Trump brand—no surprise.
At the art of denying
What he’s done and decrying
“Fake news,” Senior Don’s the big star.
No one can surpass
That supreme horse’s ass,
But the road apple didn’t fall far.
by Cody Walker
Nadal’s
comeback stalls—
and zut, it’s Gilles!
For realz.
And now things look dreary
in a hurry
for Andy Murray!
(Bam: Sam Querrey.)
We’re back
on serve—but no!—
there goes Novak!
Shoulder? Elbow?
Federer,
as everer,
is betterer.
by Joanna Bird
Things might have been different—
The outcome more sane—
If the name that was chosen
Instead was Bremain.
by David Hedges
When Bill and Monica were hot
The coverage was round the clock.
The Trump and Russia tryst is caught
Between a hard place and a rock.
Reporters work for billionaires,
Which puts a yoke around their necks.
There’s little interest in affairs
That don’t dish up some sizzling sex.
So what if Donald rigged the vote
And danced as Russia pulled his strings?
He’s wearing Reagan’s Teflon coat
And Putin’s Kevlar underthings.
by David Hedges
When Agata Kornhauser-Duda
Gave Donald an offhand saluda
After greeting his wife
As the love of her life
He scowled like a scorned barracuda.
by Mae Scanlan
Governor Christie closed beaches. It seems
Constituents gave up their holiday dreams,
While Christie, with typical insolent tone,
Was soaking up rays on a beach of his own.
He lorded it over the other poor jerks:
“Try running for governor if you want perks.”
by Robert Schechter
Pain and heartache,
woe, despair,
all at once
you lose your hair,
friends desert you,
others die,
love, it seems,
is just a lie.
You tell yourself,
“I will be strong!
Hope awaits!”
But you are wrong.
Find a bridge.
It’s time to jump.
The president
is Donald Trump.
by Mae Scanlan
Mitch McConnell has a plan,
Me oh me oh my.
It will hurt the common man,
Me oh me oh my.
With a tax cut here and a tax cut there,
Many mils, I get chills
Thinking of the low bills
For the super-wealthy clan;
Me oh me oh my.
Mitch would ram it down our throats,
Me oh me oh my.
So far they don’t have the votes,
Me oh me oh my.
With a rate hike here and a rate hike there,
Stiff the poor, swift and sure,
With a bogus health lure.
Mitch is sinking many boats;
Me oh me oh my.
Mitch is stubborn, I’m afraid,
Me oh me oh my.
He’s for scrapping Medicaid;
Me oh me oh my.
With a closed mind here and a closed mind there,
Here a wall, there a wall,
Everywhere a brick wall,
Mitch, please seek some helpful aid;
Don’t let people die!
by David Hedges
The gerrymander, like the slithy tove,
Is slightly slimy (think of Karl Rove)
And angular, an ersatz Etch-A-Sketch
Conception rendered by a scurvy wretch
Shape-shifting as he draws a line between
The hard-to-starboard types and those who lean
To port, thus making sure the hoi polloi
Stay in their place—an airtight, ironclad ploy
To maintain order in an otherwise
Untidy world, where mome raths jeopardize
The borogroves, and one-percenters scratch
Their itch for riches with a bandersnatch.
by Chris O’Carroll
Watch the world’s greatest wiz at the art of the deal
Fail to sell his own team on his team’s own repeal.
He calls their plan beautiful, calls their plan mean.
He’s as real as a cover of TIME magazine.
by James Hamby
The audio was silent,
No camera could be found,
They say that Spicey spoke;
But did he make a sound?
Most questions were not answered,
And some were met with lies—
He vanished in a huff,
But this was no surprise.
Just like the empty forest
Where trees decay and fall,
If no one’s there to hear it,
Did it occur at all?