by Thomas Germana
“A Dallas native has been declared dead by the Social Security Administration four times since 2017, despite being very much alive.”
—Fox 4 News
The feds insist she’s dead. They’re wrong;
Her heart’s been beating all along.
And yet, despite this oversight,
Eventually, they will be right.
by Julia Griffin
For Mary; after Praed
“’America says goodbye to the mass-market paperback: The so-called ‘pocket book’ sold in supermarkets is being phased out across the US, the latest sign of an ongoing shift in how people are choosing to read.”
—The Guardian
Goodnight to the mass-market paperback!
We’re flocking no longer en masse;
They can’t get the train station gaper back;
Commuters just shrug as they pass.
There’s nobody left to peruse them
On Walmart’s or Albertsons’ racks:
With Kindle at hand, who would choose them
When each is $8, plus tax?
Where once they seemed cheap, they seem pricey;
It’s not like their quality’s great,
And if we desire something spicy,
Well, words on a screen have no weight.
Goodnight to the mass-market paperback!
Alas, there’s no way to entice
The reader (that faithless escaper) back—
At least, without crashing the price.
A few might appear sentimental
(Thus proving their hearts are not stones);
However, a larger percent’ll
Move on, unconcerned, with their phones.
So finish your blinking and gulping:
The market must always be right:
The new age is golden for pulping:
Good night, old companion, good-night.
by Steven Urquhuart Bell
“Do we really need to replace our underwear every six months?”
—The Guardian
No matter how intense the wash,
They get a little mucky.
So yes, replace them twice a year—
Except if they’ve been lucky.
by Mike Mesterton-Gibbons
“Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor ‘banned from horseriding’ by royal aides after arrest”
—The Independent
Get off your high
Horse, Andrew, lest
The tabloids spy
A photo fest
That would be bad
For Charles’s brand—
It’s why we’ve had
Your horse rides banned …
You’ve done no wrong
And feel aggrieved?
The odds seem long
You’ll be believed:
Not even your
Own steeds appear
Entirely sure
You’re in the clear—
When asked if A’s
Not guilty, they
Avert their gaze
And answer “Neigh!”
by Marshall Begel
“Wisconsin Assembly Speaker Robin Vos to retire”
—Wisconsin Public Radio
Rumor has it Robin Vos
saw the writing on the wall
pointing to election loss
and chose to quit before the fall.
If poets act as legislators
as Percy Shelley aptly wrote,
would they flinch at indicators
tracking some upcoming vote?
No poet would abandon writing
for fear of losing an election—
they’d absolutely go down fighting
when so accustomed to rejection.
by Steven Kent
“Trump says he will order the release of Pentagon files on aliens, UFOs”
—The Guardian
Open files on UFOs,
Each and every word of ’em!
I’m the King who wears no clothes—
I’m transparent, Heaven knows.
Epstein? Maxwell? Who are those?
Hardly even heard of ’em!
by Dan Campion
“TV Ratings: State of the Union Trends Down in Early Numbers”
—The Hollywood Reporter
I understand he gave a speech.
I didn’t dare to watch it,
For fear he’d lead me out of reach
Of help (or docs would botch it)
In modern psychiatric care,
And heart and gut care, too.
One more emetic rant to bear?
I’ve better things to do.
by Timothy Steele
“President Trump on Friday lashed out at Supreme Court justices who struck down a key part of his tariffs agenda, calling them . . . ‘fools, lapdogs and a disgrace to our nation.’”
—Los Angeles Times
Abuse and smear, and rant and rail,
But those folks kept you out of jail.
You like awards. Take this one, Dude.
Gold Medal for Ingratitude.
by Janet Kenny
The Windsor family’s sorely tested
now bonny ex-prince has been arrested.
There’s always one, and the favorite son
has provided more smut than the British press did.
by Stephen Gold
“Palmerston, a rescue cat who became the chief mouser of the [British] Foreign Office, has died in Bermuda.”
—The Guardian
Rest in peace, dear Palmerston.
We’re grieved that you have passed,
Although the mice will be relieved
That you are gone at last.
It’s truly a catastrophe
To learn that you are dead.
Was it curiosity
That killed you, as is said?
Or did a cataclysm
Catapult you from your home
Unto your final resting place
(Perhaps a catacomb)?
I fear that we shall never know
The final catalyst.
Regardless, categorically,
You’ll be profoundly missed.
The dogged laws of nature bear
Upon both cats and men.
Alas, although you had nine lives,
You really needed ten.
by Anna M. Evans
Team Gold is won by one young skater
(although the poor sod does fall later).
Some speed, some jumps, a LOT of twirling.
We fall in love (again!) with curling.
by Marshall Begel
More Than a Third of College Students Check Social Media or Text During Sex”
—People
Babe, I love the way you smell
Mr. Beast can go to hell
This way? Okay, watch your knee.
Simp gave up and ghosted me
Need me higher? How is that?
LOL—that zesty cat!
Maybe go a little faster?
Hinge is a complete disaster
Pookie—that’s it—yes, Yes, YES!
Almost done here, SYS
That performance gets a speech—
let me start with eggplant, peach.
by Steven Urquhart Bell
“Dark showering: Scientists reveal health benefits of washing with the lights off before bed”
—Daily Mail
My waning health is going in
The opposite direction;
I feel a whole lot younger now
I can’t see my reflection.
by Julia Griffin
“Italy’s famous Lovers’ Arch collapses into the sea on Valentine’s Day:
Rock structure which served as backdrop to countless proposals disappears into the Adriatic after storm.”
—The Guardian
(After Ophelia)
“Tomorrow is St. Valentine’s Day,”
The Arch enticed the Sea;
“The kids will soon be smooching: say,
What chance of you and me?”
Then up he whipped and roundly gripped
Her stones, so firm before,
And left her scourged and half-submerged
And really Arch no more.
Quoth she: “Before you tumbled me
We made the cutest pair!”
He waved a wave. “You were my fave;
But when you talk sexy, take care.”
by Paul Lander
Board of Peace meets up.
Donald goes nappy nap, so:
More like bored of peace.