John Kelly says the free-for-all is through.
This Chief of Staff’s imposing discipline.
A welcome thought compared to how it’s been.
(But how long ‘til The Boss tires of him, too?)
So long to Mooch – that shiny, mirrored sleaze.
A major splash that quickly headed south.
Go home and let your mother wash your mouth.
When Kelly says to leave, he don’t say “please”.
For this Marine has lived the Art of War.
He’s suffered loss, and will not suffer fools.
Look forward now to protocol and rules.
And leave your midnight Twitters at the door
New order to the White House power grid,
As polished brass collides with flaming id.
Joseph Otting, an ace at evictions,
Once forclosed without conscience restrictions.
This One West retread
Was made Comptroller Head.
To further his avaricious predilections.
Makes his demands,
He pounds the table
With tiny hands.
Jeff Sessions. There’s some reason why
He wants pot illegal to buy.
Cracking down on the need
For medicinal weed.
Will somebody please get him high?
Conway says they shall tirelessly seek
To the Press, those who secretly speak.
Though this intrigue is fun,
It’s the shit being done,
As opposed to who’s taking the leak!
One-thousand two-hundred & sixty-three to go,
Until this odd administration ends.
And how it goes, on who you ask, depends.
And how much popcorn’s needed for the show.
So what’s been done? No wall, but immigration’s down.
The ACA will see another round.
And Syria has boots upon the ground.
Barhara, Flynn and Mooch are out of town.
The online memes by day, pundits by night.
Realities from Macedonian lies,
And Julian’s wikileaking pizza pies
The fumbling left. The weaponizing right.
We sicken from the vitriol and baiting.
And to the side, the Kochs and Mercer waiting.
A securities fraudster named Shkreli
Made a drug price hike that was quite smelly.
This Pharma Bro’s wealth
At the expense of good health
Earns him a nice place in Hell-y.
On vacation we two took flight
To Canada late Monday night.
To our cursory looks,
Nice folks, these Canucks.
Like Americans, but much more polite.
Two rulers engaged in a duel.
Their words were like fire to fuel.
This Nuclear Chess
Could create quite a mess.
And is, globally speaking, not cool.
A Russian jet set out to roam
O’er the White House & Capitol dome.
Those Slavic spy gents
And then, finding none, flew back home.
Two leaders, both easily goaded.
Both tell us they’re locked up and loaded
Two fingers. Two triggers.
Two rockets. Who’s bigger?
Diplomacy’s just so outmoded.
Please forgive my need for complaint,
But Trump, a world leader? He ain’t!
He tweets out his threats
Without pause or regrets,
While China calls out for restraint.
They came to show they’re white and proud.
And the chant “blood and soil” got loud.
With their tikis aflame
Were “many sides to blame”?
When one plowed his car in a crowd.
My parents, truth be told, were racist folk.
Polite, but still avoiding black and brown.
And moved our family to a whiter town,
For schools where only English she is spoke.
They did not gift their hates and fears to me.
I found enough quite nicely on my own.
Not proudly though, and fewer as I’ve grown.
But given up by thought and choice – not by decree.
The blood and loss of life in Charlottesville.
The viral image, lit by tiki flame.
And now begins the rhetoric and blame.
All tiny snapshots of a greater ill.
In my own self the demon Other dwells.
But seeing It in others is what sells.
The twisted logic
Of white conceit.
The twisted crosses
On our street.
Off line, away from the grid.
No news to report what he did.
My heart’s productivity
Needs no connectivity.
It is here that my peace has been hid.
Three days on a train presents
Paths to cross with new ladies and gents.
Talk of pleasant diversions
And favorite excursions
No bother with Current Events.
How refreshing when one sees the glow.
That comes with the word “Trudeau”
Not the smirk or the frown
That comes with the clown
We elected to serve down below.
The White House Chief Strategist
Is gone now, but won’t much be missed.
He’s juiced up for battle
In the Breitbart News saddle
Where he’ll give us both finger and fist.
A new Social Action has trended –
Downing statues of those who’ve offended.
It’s a fix cheap and fast –
Throwing stones at the past,
When so much of today must be mended.
Ah the once-in-a-lifetime views!
The corona and breathtaking hues!
Don’t miss all the fun!
Look up at the sun!
All the cautions you’ve heard are Fake News.
Of the outrage and scandals we’ve heard
From the violent to the absurd.
But in all this excitement
What of the indictment
Of Imram Awan? Not a word!
One-thousand two-hundred and forty-six
Days until this administration ends.
And how’s it going? Well, it just depends
On if we’re here to break or here to fix.
To celebrate a dark and bloody past?
To spend our future on these wars unending?
How long can those around him keep pretending.
Their leader has been hopelessly miscast.
Let’s fan the fires of discontent and rage
Condemn all thought of compromise as heresy
And blame it on the Media Conspiracy
Then, if a book remains, let’s turn the page.
For those who faulted what he had to say ~
Enjoy some Arizona Pepper Spray.
At Trump rallies we’ve seen quite a range
Of supporters for his brand of change.
They’re all waving signs
To speak what’s on their minds,
But that “Blacks For Trump” guy sure is strange.
It’s not that I really don’t care,
But this weekend I will not be there.
Damn the brickbat and shield
Upon Crissy Field.
Damn the “riot” in Patriot Prayer.
You can spend yer days in bed
If yer livin’ in Club Fed
Doin’ time locked up in Minimum Security.
It’s a far cry from the hell
Of the heat, the food, the smell
That you’d find in Arizona with assurity.
For in Maricopa County,
Where the boys hunt you for bounty,
With the handcuffs tight enough to make you cry-o
You can run or just confess,
Just make sure that you don’t mess
With that tough ol’ bastard Sheriff Joe Arpaio
It was Joe! Joe! Joe!
Serving old and moldy lunches, Sheriff Joe!
In the news, he’s give his ranties,
Dressed his inmates in pink panties,
But he’s good enough to pardon, Sheriff Joe.
Get pulled over in his town?
If yer skin is colored brown,
Have your papers ready, pray, and keep on smiling.
‘cuz before you ask “what’s up?”
You will find your ass locked up
With denials of a trace of race profiling.
Rolling over those who bossed him,
He’d go after those who crossed him,
Prosecuting those who’d dare to criticize.
From atop his prison tower,
Can you say “abuse of power”
Locking up reporters comes as no surprise.
It was Joe! Joe! Joe!
If a prisoner died in custody, who’d know?
This is jail, not insanity.
I lament your lost humanity,
But you’re good enough to pardon, Sheriff Joe.
Joe would boast he was the toughest
And he kept his prison roughest
Treating prisoners like dogs was his solution.
Though the Right might say “that’s great!”
Back in Two-Thousand and Eight,
His methods proved against the Constitution.
But you still could end up booked,
Locked up just for how you looked.
From due process, Sheriff Joe seemed quite exempt
Til’ one day, Judge Murray Snow
Put an ending to the show
And he finally found him guilty of contempt.
But then Joe! Joe! Joe!
Those who long for justice now are eating crow.
Your tough ways gave Trump a hard-on
So he granted you a pardon.
Go with God and thanks’ for nothin’, Sherrif Joe.
Over 40 inches of rain.
Loss, destruction and pain.
No food or power.
133 miles per hour.
Beyond the scope of my brain.
A year’s worth of harsh litigations.
And wikileak-type allegations.
The suit was dismissed.
Jared Beck must be pissed.
“Sure we cheated. Thanks for the donations. “
This is truly no reason to gloat.
Nature’s got that poor town by the throat.
It’s like there’s a curse,
For to make matters worse,
They’ve got fire ants that float!
Three cheers for FEMA’s Brock Long
Who’s disaster credentials are strong.
May he bring some relief
For those drowning in grief
Leave those red hats at home. They’re just wrong.
Good things to say? She had plenty!
When she should have been ruder and blunt-y.
Perhaps Feinstein is wise
With her eyes on the prize
As his running mate in 2020.