It’s a scene that’s truly hard to fathom.
Oath of office on those lying lips.
History has turned to science fiction.
Aliens are laughing in their ships.
In his first speech from the seat of power,
will he throw in ads for his hotels?
No one could envision this strange hour.
Something rotten in D.C. now smells.
Will he spew his fake news to the masses?
Will his family have a bridge to sell?
They’re the royals. We can kiss their asses.
Wave the world goodbye. We’re now in hell.
Crack open all those eggshell eyes
and let the dammed tears flow.
There must be a gallon full
As a child once said to Shoeless,
"Say it isn’t so."
Our world will change,
not for the best, tomorrow.
Dark clouds are coming in
to hide the blue skies.
The winds of change already
start to blow.
Remember, when you’re asked
to do insane things,
the option’s always open to say no.
The bets are really big; it’s the last hand.
He needs either the nine of spades or four.
Just as he’s about to ask for one card,
comes a frantic knock upon the door.
"Call the police," he hears a man’s loud voice say,
"Down the street some guy just shot a cop!"
As the others all run out to witness,
he grabs the deck and puts the nine on top.
They’d been playing all night into morning.
It must be now pretty close to noon.
Late October day in Dallas, Texas.
Who could know their lives will change, and soon?
Zeb collected Kronen. He had several passed down from his great grandparents,
whom he’d called ‘Hessa" and ‘Squadroon,’ for no apparent reason. He’d been told
that they were from ‘the old country,’ somewhere in Austria, but got confused and
used to tell classmates they’d once owned a kangaroo farm. Zeb would embellish.
His parents, whom he called ‘Fizza’ and ‘Mazier,’ (he liked Z words) told him Kroner
were hard to find in Utah and suggested a new hobby, or perhaps religion. Of course,
Zeb combined the two, and began to dig in the woods, perhaps looking to unearth
Kronen or to find Australia. What he did find were bones, animal bones which he
would assemble into sculptures, usually a pattern of interlaced Z’s. But one day
‘Fizza’ said, "That looks like a human femur you’ve got there, Zeb." And the police
were contacted. Following the investigation, which did, indeed, prove ‘Fizza’ correct,
Zeb became interested in forensics, stopped digging in the ground, and dug instead
into textbooks related to the field. And Zeb is now the highest ranking crime scene
investigator in Utah. Mormons do get murdered, it seems, but not nearly at the rate
of the general population. Around the office, Zeb is known as ‘Agent Z.’
When Wade was in eighth grade, having shown
some prowess with the instrument in his school’s
band room, he persuaded his father to buy him a trumpet.
They were not a well off family, so the instrument was used,
but Wade was very appreciative. His musical hero was
legendary jazz great Dizzy Gillespie, he of the puffed cheeks
and bent trumpet. After several months of practice, Wade decided,
to better emulate his idol, to take the horn into the basement
and bend it similarly in his father’s vise. He succeeded only
in snapping the bell off his trumpet, leaving him, basically,
with the world’s first valved kazoo. His father was furious
and adamantly refused to replace the horn. With some minor
modifications, Wade was able to get sound from his ruined instrument,
and became proficient enough to entertain at parties, school revues
and even on open mic night at a local club. A couple years later,
using some inheritance money from his late grandfather,
he funded the manufacture of an inexpensive tin version
which he patented as the "Jazzoo." It sold surprisingly well
as a novelty instrument and provided enough money to pay
for four years in a local college, studying musicology, and
to earn the begrudging respect of his father, who insisted thereafter
on calling his son "Dizzy," a nickname that stuck for life
and which Wade quite enjoyed.
Jenna’s favorite present from Santa was the Easy Bake Oven.
She always watched her mommy in the kitchen and was eager
to imitate the cooking process, in her cute little apron.
In fact, the very next day, she made cupcakes for her parents,
baked them for six hours under the Easy Bake’s sixty watt lightbulb,
and added a green glaze frosting to boot. They looked horrible.
And tasted even worse, it turned out, but mommy and daddy ate
the entire treat, out of deep love and respect for little Jenna.
Later that night, her parents got very sick and had to be taken
by ambulance to the local hospital. It seems that Jenna could
not find a suitable colored liquid in the fridge for her frosting,
so had gone out to the garage to search amongst the canned
goods there. Anti freeze was the perfect color, and gooey, too.
Jenna did not know how to read.
And, even if she did, who’d want frozen cupcakes?
When Jason’s dad taught him how to hit,
the boy insisted on reversing his batting grip,
top hand where the bottom should be.
The boy complained that the other way,
the right way, as his dad angrily repeated,
wasn’t comfortable, and constantly missed
the ball when not batting cross-handed,
often on purpose, his dad thought.
"You’ll break your wrist swinging that way,"
his dad would shout, shaking his head.
In Jason’s third little league game, he hit
a screaming liner to the left field corner,
but broke his wrist in the process.
"Always listen to your dad," his father,
a lifetime .200 hitter, said at the hospital.
It was a painful, career ending injury.
But Jason really got into swimming
at the rehab and eventually got
a scholarship to UCLA.
I’m a font of iambiquity.
My rhymes are quite persnickety.
I often use pentameters
to shatter some parameters.
If you hear that I’ve been rhymin’,
find a tree and just start climbin’.
The clouds won’t go away.
The sky above D.C. is almost dark.
There’s protest down the block
from people still in shock.
The contrast to the past events is stark.
One remembers J.F.K.,
and what he said on that great day,
flanked by Jackie and the poet Frost.
Now there stands this man,
orange is his tan.
One can only think that all is lost.
As he lays his small hand on the bible,
model wife beside, to take the oath,
one thinks of his history of libel,
feeling grief or disbelief, or both.
"Lock her up," and “Grab her by the pussy,"
shouts an angry voice within the crowd.
"Someone beat that man," says our electee,
“Hurt him badly, do your country proud."
So begins the year of our undoing.
Silence is the order of the day.
Under this, there is a violence stewing.
Build a wall around yourself and pray.
My new year’s resolution
is to start a revolution,
to turn the tide
against this fascist wave.
There’s only one solution
to insure evolution,
to send this despot legion
to its grave.
Take to the street,
tear down the walls.
when history calls.
We must risk all,
We fight for right,
’til our last breath.