And those without an arsenal aren’t cool.

Man can’t even get a decent massage any more.

And those guns that they carry ain’t old school.

Got bombs and vests and sprays for pests

and long gun rapid fire.

We’re turning back to the Olde West,

where more souls will expire.

There’s good and bad on both sides,

and they’re all allowed to carry.

Unfortunately, it’s the good ones

we most often bury.

Melt down the golden medals and distribute on PayPal.

Forget the roadside run from Fukushima with the torch.

Postpone a year for Covid fear, stay home or on the porch.

One hundred twenty days of running with the cursed flame.

And through the meltdown site as if it were part of a game.

News sources say the current flame’s already been blown out.

They relit with a backup torch. It’s what it’s all about.

And do we need proof now the world knows how to run and swim?

In many places folks can’t even get into a gym.

For those who’ll sit at home to see who stays inside their lane,

the process and expenditure are not seen as insane,

but morale boosters showing our conventions must sustain.

Somewhere inside, an old Greek gene is nagging at the brain.

It’s just a game, without intent, to minimize the pain,

an ancient entertainment we are told must never wane.

But, fifteen thousand athletes all gathered at this time

seems to reflect a state somewhere between nonsense and crime.

In twenty years, predictions have Olympic sites on Mars.

And, after that, Venusians may be dancing with the stars.

the word has spread, his followers must carry all his shit.

Insults, hating, baiting, grating, all the way to killing.

Of course, the orchestrator finds the whole reaction thrilling.

While poor Mel, in her own hell, has been told to take a rest.

Four years of pretend caring passed the test. She did ‘be best.’

And, as his sycophants get sick and pay huge hotel fees,

his plans for twenty-four will bring the country to its knees.

D.C. will once again be filled with armed militia boys,

with bear spray and AR-15’s, by far their favorite toys.

To vote, you’ll have to have a note signed by the Lord of Tallies.

And large fines will be levied upon those who miss his rallies.

No mail-in, write-in, wrong-side votes allowed in certain states.

Q will return and endorse all the proper candidates.

Of course, the first thing struck down will be limits on his terms.

It’s rich, it’s kitsch, but he’s the big fish. We are just his worms.

Mar a Lago cocktail, Drano.

Deshaun Watson’s penis-flashing.

Sex addiction defense crashing.

Covid cases see uptick.

Dad drops child in zoo cage. Sick!

Bear spray used now to protest.

Austin mourns South By Southwest.

China threatens global order.

Cuomo best head for the border.

More Dead Sea Scrolls fragments found.

AstraZeneca deemed sound.

Mission will clean space debris.

Kim Jong’s sis says “Let us be.”

Putin spars with Joe. The commie!

Japan earthquake hints tsunami.

GOP touts vote suppression.

Trump wax figure spurs aggression.

Baseball will be coming soon.

Next Olympics? On the moon.

Why do folks come out no more?

Answers follow, though they’re vague.

Has something to do with plague.

Only come outside for tasks.

When they do, they all wear masks.

It’s a quite confusing thing.

The first robbers of the spring?

Then, it seems to warm in spots.

All the places where there’s shots.

In the south, they’re all outside.

As if nobody had died.

March is green with vaccinations.

April just might see vacations.

Springtime questions have amassed.

Have we opened up too fast?

Kids have now gone back to schools.

With new sets of stricter rules.

Desks apart and do not hover.

If you cough, please duck and cover.

Summer’s our pie in the sky.

No one’s sure how this will fly.

Covid’s stolen one whole year.

There’ll be more, though. Do not fear.