Those Pesky Russians: A Poem

by William Skink

To break up the tedium of training I wrote a little poem today. I’d like to dedicate it to all those patriots pushing the Russia-did-it meme to delegitimize President-elect Trump and sway enough faithless electors to deny Trump his victory and start a civil war. Enjoy!

*

RUSSIA DID IT

I awoke this morning
and the coffee wasn’t hot
how did the Russians
infiltrate my coffee pot?

on my way to work
the roads were poorly plowed
a Russian plot for sure
designed to slow me down

at work the database
gave me error screens
somewhere in the wires
Russians hack, unseen

the clock is barely moving now
has Russia hijacked time?
I’m paralyzed by terror
at every little sign

the situation is critical
help me, Uncle Sam!
I’m trapped inside this cubicle
as part of Russia’s plan

to undermine America
and sap my vital juices
so nuke those pesky Russians
before America loses

Advertisements

About William Skink

I'm a poet and political cynic living and writing in Montana. You can contact me here: willskink at yahoo dot com
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to Those Pesky Russians: A Poem

  1. Big Swede says:

    Got this poem from AOS.

    Here’s a treat from our Poet Laureate: Muldoon.

    A Visit From Saint Hillary – Not a limerick

    (Apologies to Clement Moore and also to that other dude Not Clement Moore who totally wrote the original)

    ‘Twas Inaugural Eve, when all through the land
    Not a creature was stirring, not woman nor man
    The bunting was hung by the platform with care
    In hopes that the President soon would be there

    Adult babies were nestled all snug in their safe spots
    While visions of peppermint lattes danced through their thoughts
    And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my bare feet
    Had just settled on the couch to write up some Tweets

    When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter
    I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter
    Away to the window I flew like a flash
    Tore open the designer window treatments and threw up the sash

    The moon on the crest of the new-fallen snow
    Gave the lustre of midday to objects below
    When what should my wondering eyeballs now view
    But a nondescript van with a medical crew

    With a little old lady so wrinkled with sag
    I knew in a moment she must be The Hag
    More rapid than eagles her minions they came
    And she cackled, and wheezed, and called them by name

    “Now Weiner! McAuliffe! Podesta and Mills!
    On Huma! Palmieri! On Chelsea and Bill!
    To the top of the platform on the Washington Mall
    Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”

    As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly
    When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky
    So up to the Capitol her minions they flew
    With the van full of medication, and Saint Hillary too

    And then, in a twinkling, I heard a guffaw
    The grasping and clinging of each grubby paw
    As I drew in my head, set for taking my lumps
    Down the stairway St. Hillary came with a thump

    She was dressed in polyester, from her head to her foot
    And her clothes were all draped like a baggy Mao suit
    An enemies list she had stashed in her pants
    And she looked like a homeless guy starting a rant

    Her eyes-how they wandered! Gone wild with strabismus!
    She kept sticking her nose into everyone’s business
    Her droll little mouth was drawn back in a sneer
    And the chin whiskers bleached, until they were clear

    A bottle of vodka was clutched in her fist
    And the vapors encircled her head like a mist
    She had a harsh laugh and a fake Southern drawl
    She warn’t no ways tahrred, in spite of it all

    She was chubby and plump, a right nasty old elf
    And I laughed when I saw her, in spite of myself
    A three-hundred-sixty degree twist of her head
    Soon gave me to know I had something to dread

    She spoke not a word, but went straight to her work
    Emptied everyone’s stockings; called me “Deplorable jerk!”
    Then mashing the throttle right down to the floor
    Her Hoveround rose up the stairway once more

    She lurched toward her van, her team gave her a boost
    And away they all flew like the down of a goose
    But they heard me exclaim, ere they drove out of sight-

    “Happy Christmas to all! She’s not President tonight!”

    Like

  2. Carla Augustad says:

    Love it!

    Like

  3. Pingback: Anti-Russia Hysteria Consumes Mother Jones and the Missoula Independent | Reptile Dysfunction

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s