by Steven Kent

“Rishi Sunak to face pressure to shift right after disastrous election results”
—The Guardian

(To the tune of Toni Basil’s “Mickey“)

Oh Rishi, you’re so fine,
You’re so fine—now toe the line.
Hey Rishi! Hey Rishi! (Repeat)

You think you run the show, you live at Number 10—
We tell you what to do, we tell you where and when,
And if you mess around we’ll fill your seat again, Rishi.

See, hopefuls come and go, and we don’t really care;
In Commons, on the street–we find ’em everywhere.
An empty suit like you is easy to prepare, Rishi.

Oh Rishi, better do our bidding, can’t you see,
Or wind up like Teresa May, a bitter old MP.
Show independence, and we’ll quickly set you free—
We want you, Rishi,
Oh yes it’s true, Rishi, true, Rishi—
We’re watching you, Rishi!

Election’s dead ahead—just call it, Rishi, please.
The Party isn’t well; we’re down upon on our knees,
But we believe the cure is more of the disease, Rishi.

So can you be a man? And can you make a fuss?
We’ve got a pair of traits that matter most to us:
A heart of ice and balls like Braverman or Truss, Rishi.

Oh Rishi, understand we want you in this fight–
As Labour goes to celebrate a very winning night,
You’re gonna drag the Tories further to the Right.
We need you Rishi,
You know it’s true, Rishi, true, Rishi—
Will you come through, Rishi?

Oh Rishi, you’re so fine,
You’re so fine, but stay in line,
Hey Rishi! Hey Rishi! (Repeat)

by Ruth S. Baker

“More than 1,000 sea lions have gathered at San Francisco’s Pier 39 this spring, the largest herd in at least 15 years. …
displaying themselves to the thousands of tourists who pass by the area each day.”
—The Guardian

Across that luckiest of piers
Sea lions lie in stacks,
With tails on tails and snouts in ears,
And abdomens on backs.

Or, if we’re simply counting heads,
There’s tourists by the ton,
Outnumbering those pinnipeds
By more than two to one.

by Steven Urquhart Bell

“Doctor explains how your eyes can hold clues to your overall health”
—The Independent

I show you blow-up pictures from a menu,
And if your peepers instantly go wide
At fish and chips or fries and quarter-pounders,
I might conclude that time’s not on your side.

by Eddie Aderne

“[I]n late 2022, a giant iron sword and a bronze mirror were unearthed from [the Tomio Maruyama burial mound
in the city of Nara] which date back to the late fourth century. … The discovery has raised questions among
archeologists. The sword, at more than 2 meters, is too long to be used as a weapon, so why was it made? And why
is the mirror shaped [uniquely] like a shield? Perhaps most importantly, who are the two people interred at the site?
—The Japan Times

Can bodily pride be shielded and stored
In a mirror of old Japan?
Can courage be put in an iron sword
Exceeding the length of a man?

Who lay so long in the burial mound
Where the sword and the mirror lie?
Two mighty ministers, far renowned?
A lord and his samurai?

Or was it a single man, in state,
With a sword no other could wield,
And a single woman, his match, his mate,
With a mirror the shape of a shield?

by Simon MacCulloch

“Is it time to ban gender reveal parties? The death of a pigeon recently forced the RSPCA
to warn parents-to-be to stop dying [sic] birds pink”
—Independent

A leap in human wisdom’s sum!
We’ve learnt that dyeing birds is dumb.
Be bold, and dare to hope as well
That headline writers learn to spell.

by Julia Griffin

For Maria; without permission

“Researchers this week claimed to have found the final resting place of [Plato], a patch in the garden
of his Athens Academy, after scanning [with broadband infrared light] an ancient papyrus scroll recovered
from the library of a Herculaneum villa that was buried when Mount Vesuvius erupted in AD79.”
—The Guardian

We’ve traced him, then: close to the Muses’ shrine,
Inside a private garden—with his friends,
But not quite of them. A recovered line
From a long-scorched papyrus scroll extends
Our knowledge: it’s a method (Plato’s word)
None of those Old Academicians could
Have dreamed. With nothing to be disinterred,
This can’t affect him now, for bad or good.
Here once his pupils mourned: Demetrius,
Erastus, Aristotle, the cross-dressed
Axiotheia; did they weep and fuss?
Or did they, following his old behest,
Focus their minds on vital matters—not
The body but beyond: *Then what? Then what ..?*

by Alex Steelsmith

“The ‘world’s largest’ vacuum to suck climate pollution out of the air just opened… a technology designed to…
strip out the carbon using chemicals [and] transport the carbon underground where it will be
naturally transformed… [in a] sequestration process.”
—CNN

Merrily, merrily,
modern technology
comes to the rescue like
never before,

thanks to a supersized
carbon-sequestering
vacuum that nature will
never abhor.

by Steven Kent

“[National Enquirer Publisher] David Pecker… wrapped up his testimony on Friday afternoon after cross-
examination by Trump’s legal team. … Pecker said he had agreed to help Trump keep bad stories out of the news. …
He said explicitly, and repeatedly, that he had been doing so to help Trump’s election chances.”
—The Guardian

Though Trump tries to stay in a bubble,
His woes in the world seem to double:
The judge is quite sore,
And it’s clear that once more
Donald’s Pecker has got him in trouble.

by Marshall Begel

“Tom Brady accused of ruining collectibles with shoddy autograph…”
—USA Today

We’ve come, Mr. Brady, enamored and humble.
But frankly, you’ve given us cause to call, “Fumble!”

Behind every scrimmage, we fans had your back—
We’d curse any ref who permitted a sack.
Each Super Bowl win made us proud and elated.
We never suspected those balls were deflated.
Though Patriot boosters for twenty-odd years,
We rooted (discreetly) for your Buccaneers.

The fans have delivered you stature and fame—
The least you could do is to WRITE YOUR DAMN NAME!

by Paul Lander

“The Kristi Noem puppy-killing scandal, explained”
—Vox

Gov. Noem’s dog Cricket
Must’ve been right on her foot
When she shot the pooch.

by Julia Griffin

“4 Escaped Zebras Spotted on Washington State Highway”
—The New York Times

As if we needed more foreboding dramas,
Here comes the latest news flash from North Bend:
Four zebras pound the highway—it’s the end!
Lo! the Apocalypse, in striped pajamas!

by Mike Mesterton-Gibbons

“‘The Guardian lights very well’: how newspaper came to aid of stranded geologist
When Bryn Austin, 71, lost his bearings on an unstable cliff his favourite paper
kept him warm and helped start fire to alert rescuers”
—The Guardian

A daily Guardian looks after you,
Defending you against discomfort and
Adversity: When rocks that you accrue,
In studying the sliding of the land,
Look muddyish, your Guardian will let
You wrap them up in it. And lest your bum
Get damp, it shields you when the ground is wet.
Up cloistered cliffs, from which the drop is plumb
And where you freeze, your Guardian is what
Reheats your legs. It’s even there to get
Destroyed for you by fire to light your spot …
If no such bother, though, has happened yet,
A Guardian can entertain instead:
News snippets and the letters can be read!

by Alex Steelsmith

“Sen. John Hoeven said he has secured a commitment from the National Park Service to maintain wild horses
in [Theodore Roosevelt National Park]… the Park Service will abandon its proposed removal of the horses…’”
—AP

Said Hoeven: The Park Service plan to remove
its free-roaming hooved ones will never behoove
the park, and it’s not what the public endorses.
The Park Service heard, and it’s holding its horses.

by Steven Kent

“Workers at far-right site Gateway Pundit feared credibility issues, filing shows”
—The Guardian

Extra, Extra! Gateway Pundit might be less than credible!
(And water’s wet, the sun is hot, and hemlock is inedible.)

by Simon MacCulloch

“Designer… sentenced to prison for smuggling crocodile and python handbags.”
—The Guardian

The law, it seems, allows
For handbags made of cows,
But has you breaking rocks
For handbags made of crocs.

You’re better selling fakes
Than handbags made of snakes,
For what we all espouse
Is handbags made of cows.

So if you care to browse
The fashions, think of cows,
Whose deeply plaintive moo
Is how they think of you.