by Rick Young | Jul 9, 2020 | Story
School kids working factories or maybe down the mine.
History repeats itself. Give this baby time.
They don’t need no ABC’s when con’s the bottom line.
Two and two do not add up. The system is the crime.
Underemployed children are the scourge of working nations.
K through twelve have up to now been on some long vacations.
Our workforce will incorporate them through dire machinations.
They’ll get ‘fair’ pay and then, mid-day, be treated to C-rations.
They’ll get time outs to play outside on the merry-go-round.
We know if we work them too hard, they’ll go underground.
No more under-employment then, the reasoning is sound.
Hard proof the world’s most heartless leader right here can be found.
by Rick Young | Jul 9, 2020 | Poem
Just send your kids to school, fool,
never mind their health.
Their future is nothing
without this country’s wealth.
So they get sick.
They’ll heal up quick.
It’s like a sacrifice.
And some will die. Boo hoo, we’ll cry.
But it will turn out nice.
Our bounceback will be world renowned,
the best by many measures,
despite the bodies underground
and trashing all our treasures.
by Rick Young | Jul 8, 2020 | Poem
With it’s news of airborne COVID spread,
Horton knows he’s notching up more dead.
“A person’s a person no matter how small,”
but estimates say he can’t kill them all.
The WHO was not perfect, we all have our flaws.
But that’s not allowed in the quirk of his laws.
It’s all been a hoax which the WHO perpetrated,
said Horton to those who he secretly hated.
A death count’s a death count, but let it be small.
He really sees no use for numbers at all.
by Rick Young | Jul 8, 2020 | Poem
He’s putting out a bounty on the bounty story leaker.
He’ll fill him up with Chlorox, pour it down him by the beaker.
He hasn’t said a word to Putin, playing Don the Meeker.
But his base is eroding, maybe even mister speaker.
I dream the day Pelosi will just shred him by her laugh,
when Shifty Schiff steps up to cut the big red tie in half.
And how about when Chuckles Schumer steps up to the mike,
screams, “Who’s hungry?”, unveils T’s cheese head upon a pike.
by Rick Young | Jul 6, 2020 | Poem
Ennio Morricone’s dead, a great blow to his fandom.
“The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly,” should be our current anthem.
Columbus fell in Baltimore, a year after Showalter.
When there’s no Trumpet in the news, these poems start to falter.
We can, of course condemn his constant railings of deceit,
his lumping in with thugs and mugs protesters in the street.
And damn his lying lying lies and flaunting of the law.
His reinterpretation of everything we just saw.
His white flag to the virus, sentencing good souls to death.
His calculated threats to our long freedom’s every breath.
Yes, our spaghetti western’s winding down in tragic fashion,
playing now out in your streets: see fire, guns and smashin’.
The police are not your friends and your friends aren’t who they were.
Entire lives lived in high contrast now are just a blur.
Sometimes words can take two strikes, as if it doesn’t matter.
But it’s the bottom of the ninth. We need a better batter.
