Plus Ca Change…

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 Mar-a-Lago—president

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?”


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