Poems of the Week

Timothée Chalamet

by Shaun Jex

Timothée Chalamet
Said, “I don’t really care for ballet.
It’s hard to plié with ease
When you’ve got foot-in-mouth disease.”

Draft Donnie’s Rag

by Julia Griffin

for Hannah Graham

“White House Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt refused to rule out a potential military draft during a Sunday interview, stating President Trump ‘wisely keeps his options on the table.'”
Fox News

(After Phil Ochs)

Oh, I’m just a genius President
Who ought to be given a crown:
I believe in God, he’s part of my squad,
And a-blamin’ the poor and brown;

And when it came my time to serve
I asked my old man Fred.
Turns out he had a draft board buddy,
And this is what we said:

Sarge, I’m only twenty-two, I’ve got a deal to do,
And I always carry a purse;
I’ve an orange rash and a bunch of cash,
And I’ve been signed off by a nurse.

“Yes, think of my career in the real estate sphere
And the saps who’ll be paying me rent,
Besides, I’ll star on TV, have a wife or three,
Then I’m gonna be the President.

“I’ve spurs on my feet, though they still smell sweet,
And I’m learning the POTUS craft,
And this I swear, when I’m settled in there,
I’ll be bringing in a brand-new draft.

“I got a taste for war, I’m gonna send the poor,
They’re what any Board prefers;
You can forget my son—when all is done
I’ll be worried about his spurs.

“I’ll be seventy-nine with my lackeys in line
To cringe any time that I frown;
And Sarge, let me sham out of Vietnam
And I’ll end up rocking a crown.”

A Study of Ruddy Fuddy-Duddies

by Steven Urquhart Bell

“New research finds mental decline ‘not inevitable’ with age”
The Independent

It isn’t? Damn! Well, bang goes my excuse
For screwing up at work and being obtuse.

Hey, Marco, If The Big Shoes Trump Gave You Don’t Fit

by Paul Lander

“As reported by the Wall Street Journal earlier this week, President Donald Trump has a penchant for doling out $145 Florsheim Oxfords to cabinet members and closest allies. … But as several photographs have since shown, Rubio’s are at least two sizes too big for him.”
Vogue

Rubio’s giant shoes
You know what they say, Marco?
Little feet, little…

Rising to the “‘Falling Cat’ Problem”

by Dan Campion

“Why Falling Cats Always Seem to Land on Their Feet:
It takes backbone to solve an enigma like the ‘falling cat’ problem.”
The New York Times

The research team deserve congrats,
But there’s no “problem” for the cats.

Talibanter

by Nora Jay

“‘A few beatings won’t kill you’: judge rejects divorce request of woman abused by husband in Afghanistan”
The Guardian

Oh, go away, you noisy female pill, you;
This court’s too busy to indulge your shrieks.
A beating husband isn’t going to kill you!
But if he does, we’ll jail him for two weeks.

Jagger? I Don’t Even Know Her!

by Steven Kent

“Source close to Rolling Stones disputes Melania producer’s claim Mick Jagger ‘gave his blessing’ to use song”
The Guardian

Melania needs a heavy hit,
But let us be on the level:
Gimme Shelter’s not as fit
As Sympathy for the Devil.

Noemesis

by Julia Griffin

“Trump removes DHS Secretary Kristi Noem after controversial tenure:
In his post, Trump praised Noem as having ‘served us well’ and praised her for ‘numerous and spectacular results (especially on the Border!’).’”
The Washington Post

She built a face of plaster;
Her lips were rubber-coated;
But still she irked her master,
And now she’s been demoted.

Her record he’s defending;
No word of botch or bungle;
But now she’s apprehending
The ethics of the jungle.

The wolves that she’s been thrown to
Are ones she once insisted
No mercy should be shown to,
And gleefully delisted;

Now she herself’s de-POTUSed,
Whereon a thankless nation’s
In hopes the wolves have noticed
That dogs are their relations.

Giving Up the Bottle

by Marshall Begel

“’The rumors are true! I’m retiring and saying goodbye to the world of cleaning to pursue new hobbies,’ Mr. Clean said in a statement.”
PennLive

He’s hanging up his plain white tee
and growing out his hair,
as Mr. Clean, retiree,
retracts his nom de guerre.

As mascot for his namesake brand,
he figured it was time
to let his ad campaign disband
and end his life of grime.

Perhaps there was some secret tryst
or other tabloid shocker—
was he revealed on Epstein’s list
or caught with Betty Crocker?

The reason for his abdication
is likely unsurprising:
a tactic of a corporation
to get free advertising.

Taking Stock

by Steven Urquhart Bell

“At 81 I’m an amateur investor with £370K in stocks. What should my next move be?”
The Telegraph

Considering you’re 81,
I’d sell them all and have some fun.

The Upper Hand

by Stephen Gold

“Why Hendrix, Churchill and Bowie had a helping hand to success”
The Times

Though being a left-hander
May help one to compete,
I tell you in all candor,
Not so with two left feet!

A Feature, Not a Bug

by Steven Kent

“Good news for Trump before midterms: He’s still more popular than cockroaches”
The Guardian

He’s loved here less than crickets, less than ants.
Respondents claim—when given half a chance
To speak about this topic pollsters broach—
We’re better off with bugs (except the roach).

Ironic, no? At last the great divider
Unites us now in favoring the spider.
If ever Trump starts going incognito,
We’ll know he got outpolled by the mosquito.

Dead Wrong

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.