The Easter Bunny gave a yawn
And hopped onto the White House lawn.
“The one part I could lose from spring’s
That stupid Easter egg roll thing.
It puts a big hole in my day—
And what’s with egg rolls anyway?
Am I the only puzzled bunny
Who thinks it’s really pretty funny
That we lay eggs? It seems to me
A hen does more efficiently—“
But then he gave himself a “Shush!”
And froze: what’s that behind that bush?
It trembled slightly, like the trees
When ruffled by a fresh spring breeze
Though no tree Bunny’d ever known
Would give out with an endless moan.
“Who’s there?” asked Bunny. “I.D.—stat!
If you are some marauding cat
Who thinks that poaching’s fun and lust
For squirrels and bunnies, it’s a bust!
It’s federal land—and while you’re assing
Around here, dude, know you’re trespassing!”
But the bush just gave a little groan
And said, “Please, man, leave me alone!”
“Who are you?” Bunny asked, now nicer.
“Are the press gone?” “Yep.” “Then I’m Sean Spicer.
Spokesperson for the resident
Of these United States, the winner
Of last year’s pop vote—and at dinner
Gets two scoops when his guests get one
To underline all he has done
And well deserves White House employ
Because he’s been a real good boy.”
“Whatever,” said the Bunny, doubting,
“But if you’re important, why the pouting?
And, since the presser time is over,
I can’t see why you’ve taken cover.”
The bushes parted. Out came Sean.
“You’re really sure the press has gone?”
“Yeah, doc, there’s only you and me—
But, really, why the secrecy?
Then Spicer wiped his streaming eyes.
“The truth is, I’ve run out of lies!
I’ve spent three months inventing things
That sound like they were made for kings
Like George the Third—no kidding, folks—
Who used to chat with palace oaks
And trump—it’s true—but don’t quote me!
Will talk all night to his tv
As if Fox News were some old friend—
And, while his ranting has no end,
What’s next is what we’ve come to dread:
Instead of heading off for bed,
His orange head between the sheets,
He sits up with his phone and tweets
And tweets and tweets, then tweets some more
And, knowing him, you can be sure
That almost all he has to say,
We’ll have to ‘clarify’ next day!
The ticktock ticks—how long until
Paul Lyin even stops his shill
And mitch as well will finally reach
The moment when he’ll shout ‘Impeach’?
But till then, must I keep on saying
‘No comment’ to the press corps’ braying
While hiding from each network griper
In camouflage like an ISIS sniper?”
At that, a single teardrop glistened
Upon his cheek—while Bunny listened,
Then, glancing skyward, said, “Your culture
Is worse than mine—but there’s a vulture
In both—and mine is circling over—
If you don’t mind, I’ll join your cover.
But, I’ve a thought: you have the habit
Of dodging: why not be a rabbit?
You’d need a pelt and your hop is rotten,
But a pair of ears and a ball of cotton
Glued to your wobbly little ass
And some wire whiskers? I think you’d pass!”
“What are you, SLN? That’s funny?”
“Look, doc, what’s worse: a life as bunny
Or a dude whose lies are now so evident
He’s better known than his lying president?
How long can you still be a parrot
To pants on fire? Here, have a carrot.”
Sean munched and thought. “This plan’s got legs.
Any drawbacks?” “Well—can you lay eggs?”