TRUMP ON TRUTH
Truth is a liar, a smokescreen
invented by gay, black
environmentalists who
sneak his panics across the border
when the border patrol has its
back turned because they are
busy at work keeping Muslims
and Martians out of the country
and pledging allegiance to the flag
of the Divided States of America, and
to the Republics for which it stands,
two nations, under Smog, inexplicable,
with liberty and justice for misogynists,
racists and science-deniers who want
to make America great again like it was
before Obamacare, the EPA and the
North’s victory over the South
in the Crimean War.
AN ALTERNATE REALITY
The cow crowed at the crack of
dawn, the sheep mooed loudly,
a rooster strolled into my
living room, said it was snowing
in the blogosphere where
the law of gravity had been
suspended, the sun had
fallen from the sky, coal miners
were dumping sludge into
their oatmeal to give them
strength to face the day and
turn off TVs that were reporting
a mandrill in Mar-a-Lago had
tweeted at four a.m. “the
environment is a hoax created by
refugees who are up to no good,
Lincoln was a piker compared to
Putin, pigs can fly,” which is not
news for if it walks like a duck
and talks like a duck it’s a horse
or a camel or some kind of mammal
on Fox and Friends, making the
barnyard great again, moving critters
from minimum wages and state-benefit
cages to the free market so they can
invest their social security savings
rather than have the government
tell them where to store their nuts
for the winter, a season scientists say
is growing warmer each year but
who’re you gonna believe, a bunch
of data-driven monkeys working for
peanuts or big fish magnates and
God fearing geckos that know climate
is a state of mind, life begins whenever
you say it does, and the only thing
we have to fear is single payer
health insurance, the lamestream
media, and regulations on guns.
IF THEY QUACK LIKE RACISTS
THEY’RE NOT DUCKS
A white duck would never throw a
black duck against a pier and
cuff that duck because it wasn’t
swimming fast enough and
the ebony flyer’s quacks had
become too loud for the
paler creature’s sensibility.
And a black duck would never
harm a white one for being
part of a uniformed brace that
contains some critters who want to
keep dark ducks down and make it
difficult for those with swarthy
pigmentation to fly with the flock.
If they did such awful things
their fellow paddlers might
label them a bunch of
stinking, rotten people
not fit for the company of
web-footed, broad-billed divers
whose biologic family contains
both swans and geese.
LEAVES OF GRASS UPDATED
I hear America singing, the varied verses I hear,
Those of stockbrokers, each one singing buy low, sell high,
The attorneys, chanting in Latin as they clog up the
court system with ludicrous litigation to accrue
exorbitant fees,
The medical insurance companies, howling as they raise
their premiums and deny your claim for the
fender bender that wasn’t your fault,
The politician, warbling to the public to give him one more chance
after being indicted for bribery and tax evasion,
The avaricious tune of the CEO, singing I deserve a gigantic
bonus even though my company went bust,
The rapacious real estate agent, wailing housing is back
and now is the time to jump on a really good deal,
The siren song of the public relations flack, tooting the praises
of tobacco, tainted tuna, and frivolous consumer goods,
The covetous credit card companies, crying take on debt you
can’t afford and don’t pay now pay later at
usurious rates of interest,
The carefully modulated refrain of the Arthur Andersen accountant,
singing and signing on the dotted line after a QuickBooks
glance at Enron’s phony figures,
The banker, humming all way to the bank that has been bailed
out with taxpayer largesse,
The used car salesman, whistling how wonderful that shiny-looking
pre-owned vehicle that will conk out right after you purchase
it is and you can have it for a song,
Each singing what belongs to
him or her and to no one else,
Each singing for their supper,
and for your dinner too.
Bionote
Martin H. Levinson is a member of the Authors Guild, National Book Critics Circle, PEN, and the book review editor for ETC: A Review of General Semantics. He has published ten books and numerous articles and poems. He holds a PhD from NYU and lives in Forest Hills, New York. Website: martinlevinson.com
