Russian Hospitality

“Sergey, sergey—I’m so glad you’re back!”

Said vlad to a sweat-dripping sergey kislyak.

 

“Thanks, Mr. President, nice to be here.”

“You must be thirsty—so how ‘bout a beer?”

 

“No, thanks, Mr. President. Nothing for me!”

“Wouldn’t you have at least one glass of tea?”

 

“Thanks, Mr. President. Right now I’m fine.”

“Now, Sergey, I know you’ve a taste for good wine—

 

Just look at that vintage—just smell that bouquet!”

“No, thanks, Mr. President. Nothing today.”

 

“Ah—but how ‘bout some mors—our traditional drink?

“It’s tempting, but nothing for me, now, I think.”

 

“Only loads of fresh berries and honey and ice—

Say yes now, sergey—but I won’t ask you twice!”

 

“I’d like to say yes—“ “Good! I knew you would try it!”

“But have to say no on account of my diet!”

 

“Now, this isn’t healthy,” said vlad in frustration.

“July and it’s hot—you will need rehydration!”

 

“My doctor says sweating is good for my pores—

Although I admit that a glass of chilled mors—“

 

“Is right for such weather! So delightfully chill!”

“Oh dear! I’m so clumsy! Just look at that spill!”

 

“Some ice water, then? I’ve a full pitcher here!

Just see that thick frosting—it’s better than beer!”

 

“But I’m good for right now,” said the dripping kislyak.

“Maybe after you say why you wanted me back?”

 

“At least have a Coke—if you won’t try a beer—

It’s donny boy’s drink—he can make it appear

 

From a spot on his desk where there sits a red button

But I bet he drinks twelve a day, being a glutton!

 

And speaking of trump—he’s a problem, I think?

Let’s speak of him more after downing one drink—

 

Only one—but it’s vodka—let’s toast to the wealth

And Rodina’s power—“ “Sir, it’s bad for my health!”

 

“Well, maybe it’s bad, but I’ll tell you what’s worse—

It’s not taking a hint!” and vlad pulled, with a curse,

 

A pistol from under his desk and one shot

Rang out and sergey tumbled dead on the spot.

 

The shot brought an aide—“Sir?” “It’s sergey kislyak.

Just look at that sweat—I would say heart attack!”

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Least Said…

“To be or not to be—sounds pretty good?”

“I’ve heard it before.” “There’s just no way you could,”

Said trump to his mirror, “not heard it or read it,

‘cause, mirror, I’m really the first one to have said it.

I make these things up—I’m as smart as a whip—

And how about this one: Don’t give up the ship!

Or Remember the Alamo? That one was mine,

Or Four Score and Seven—tho’ Abe stole that line!

There’s Boys Will Be Boys and Best Friends Forever,

Then something is better than something than never—

I make up so many—like May and December

Or An Idle Brain—something—it’s hard to remember

But if you think they’re good—well, mirror, just wait—

I’m making one now and it’s going to be great,

It’s as good as that chicken one—that was mine, too:

Oh–Do Unto Others ‘Cause They’ll Do Unto You!

Don’t you think that’s swell, major, major, and super?”

But all that the Mirror, like Anderson Cooper,

Could do was resort to a rolling of eyes

While trump went on, “Healthy and Wealthy and Wise!

A yuge one and one of my number one hits

And they put it right up with that If the Shoe Fits—

Mine too, but what puts even that in the shade

Is, Life is All Lemons, So Let’s Drink Lemonade,

Or something like that—but it’s good, you can bet—

And then there’s that one that you’ll never forget

And if those ones all fly, well, then this baby soars!

I said, It Never Rains, But Somewhere It Pours!”

The proverbs kept flying. The Mirror went dim

As it tried to come up with a way to stop him

And finally, desperate, he gave out a cry:

“If You Ask Me No Question, I’ll Tell You No Lie!”

“Did I say that?” trump asked. “I don’t think I would.”

“You didn’t,” said Mirror, “But we all think you should!”

O Tempora (Nova) (for p.r.)

As Robin once said to Alan-a-Dale

In the middle of making a song:

“Perhaps our approach to this whole hero thing

Is quite fundamentally wrong.

 

I mean, let’s think hard who’s got power or not

In England—tho’, yes, it’s a bitch—

Not lepers and peasants and freeholders, but

That 1% who form the rich.

 

Who owns all the castles which stand on the hills

And give the whole place that bleak look?

Who’s skimming the taxes they pay to the state

While cooking the whole Domesday Book?

 

When Richard the Lion went on his Med cruise,

What profit could our peasants hope

Would come back to them and not to the king

And his barons and maybe the Pope?

 

And then there’s John-Boy, who gets to play king,

Although it’s quite clear he’s unwrapped,

While big-bro spends time in the Austrian court

And protests that he’s really kidnapped—

 

Another excuse—as if there’s a need!

For milking the serfs of each groat,

And angel, and crown, and thripenny bit—

To pay off King Dick’s ransom note!”

 

“Now, Robin, that’s no way to talk,” said Friar Tuck.

“Your thinking has got a queer bent!”

“Now don’t get me started on tithing,” said Rob.

The church, too, is pure 1%.

 

Cathedrals aren’t built out of cardboard and air—

‘It’s something the poor understand’

You say, but, while they starve to pay for the thing

You live off the fat of the land.

 

So, consider, Little John, our Sherwoodian life—

Well, yes, you could say we are free—

We don’t pay the taxes, or slave in the fields,

But, remember, we live in a tree!

 

We’re un-unionized, we have no health care,

No visible savings to mention

And when one’s too old to poach the King’s deer,

Will any retire on a pension?”

 

“That’s true, Rob, that’s true,” said his friend, Little John,

Though we may be as merry as May

And drink all that nut brown ale Alan sings of,

Which one has a 401K?”

 

“You see what I mean? We’ve been totally wrong—

We’ve gotten it backwards, I’m sure!

From now on, we’re joining that fat 1%

By doing like them: rob the poor!

 

So, Alan, retuning your harp, be prepared

To make a new song in a blink,

A ballad—‘How We Changed to Move with the Times

And so became ‘Robbing Hood, Inc.’!”

As Houses

D trump stared at the ceiling

And then he tapped the wall.

He peeked behind the pictures

And glanced into the hall.

 

Then reaching in a desk drawer,

Thinking, “Crazy? like a fox!”

He pulled out blunt-tipped scissors and

a big Alcoa box

 

and set to work, with shiny sheets

to overlap each joint

until the thing was smooth and round

and rose into a point.

 

“Take that, Obama! Oh so smart—

Spy on yourself instead!”

He muttered as he placed the thing

Upon his ill-dyed head.

 

“It’s microwaves, says Kellyanne,

Or maybe my tv.

There’s cameras in it, that I know,

And cell phones? Possibly.

 

The CIA, those Nazi guys—

And after that ovation!

It’s just as well I weekend in

A very safe location

 

Where I can golf and golf and golf

And think I’ll never stop

And crowds of foreign leaders can

Enjoy a photo op

 

While in the background there’s my team,

Hand-picked for their distinction,

Discussing North Korea’s plans

For nuclear extinction.

 

It’s all so safe, I tell you, folks—

And calm as it appears,

But I’m demanding Congress will

Begin a probe of Sears!”

No Kidding!

“Now, honestly, I was joking—

I make a lot of jokes—

But it is clear when I am not.

Come on, believe me, folks!

 

I’m serious on health care,

On taxes—you can tell—

I’m serious, too, on NATO,

And divestiture, as well.

 

I’m sober on the EPA,

And trimming all the fat

From foreign aid and furthermore

I’m deadly serious that

 

The media lies—misrepresents

My thoughts on each position

And so I’m serious saying they’re

The political opposition.

 

I’m serious, too, when I have said

That millions filled the Mall

And also when I say that Mexico

Will fund the wall.

 

The popular vote I lost—and this

Is one of Hillary’s gloats–

I’m serious was due to those

5 mil illegal votes.

 

And as for Vlad, I’m serious, too—

I never met the man

And I am sure that every rape’s

Due to a Mexican.

 

But when I’m being funny, you

Can always tell—it’s true!

I only use my right hand to send

Those tweets to you

 

Who put me in the White House,

Despite my many gaffs,

And when I said my phone was tapped,

I said it just for laughs.

Dum Spiro, Spero

The elephant, with a noise

That was both blaring and farty,

Collapsed in a heap

On the republican party.

 

And yet, with a vision

Which could only be tunnel,

The first to deny it

Was mitchell mcconnell.

 

“If there was an elephant,

Please do remember

That you and I loosed him

Way back in November

 

And sneaked past some bills

In his lumbering shadow

While ignoring the critics

Like Cooper and Maddow.

 

So now when it’s clear

We have almost succeeded

In giving the Kochs

And their friends what they needed—

 

A tax break not just of

A few paltry billions,

But now in the range

Of a couple of trillions

 

While meanwhile our plan’s

Moving on to depriving

Those vampires of welfare

Of the means of surviving:

 

The old and the poor,

And every brown kiddy

Who lives in the sticks

Or the deep inner city,

 

And thinks he should eat

At the country’s expense—

Well, Trump says, ‘You’re wrong!’

(And so does Mike Pence.),

 

Think: there is no elephant—

Make that correction!

And no foreign government

Skewed our election–

 

It just never happened—

It’s those democrats lyin’

That’s God’s honest truth–

Just go ask paul ryan!

 

So now, while it seems

We are in an eclipse,

Use the light on your cellphone

To study my lips:

 

We are patriots all,

Of the party of Lincoln

And even if everything

Seems to be stinkin’,

 

It’s a good, manly smell—

A kind of a musk–

And that big curving thing

Over there is no tusk,

 

And just as we see no

Real sign of collusion,

The fact that we’re dying

Is all an illusion.”

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?”