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Satirical Verse

The Birth of the Banana Republic!

The Birth of the Banana Republic: Florida 2000      
The Man in Blue: Total Information Awareness    --   The Vial: 2/6/03  

A Garland for the Groper

The Great Gas Bag   --    One for the Groper!   --   The Fish Mistaken for a Man   --  Taps, Muted
"The Great Gas Bag," "One for the Groper!," "Taps, Muted" originally appeared in The Berkshire Edge; "The Fish Mistaken for a Man," in Tikkun

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The Birth of the Banana Republic!

Banana

The Birth of the Banana Republic: Florida 2000

Not all the hurrahs could be counted, of course,
the skies being crowded, as usual at the season,
with pundits in holding patterns, and everywhere
the terrible shards of breaking news. Stick your head
out the window and, buddy, you're dead.

The photo of the kid holding his beach bucket
up to the sky to catch the cheers as they fell
will surely win a Pulitzer. Unless it goes
to the topless babe holding her cups out
and wearing shades -- a pin-up of blind Justice.

Nothing's surreal anymore in God's country!
The court has ruled against Buñuel et al.
The consumption of bananas in public
shall no longer be permitted. Who picks
the prez is the biz of the beholden Supremes.

© Jon Swan

The Man in Blue: Total Information Awareness

In dreams between the milkwhite sheets the man
in blue may steal into your room

who holds the jar in which you once caught
fireflies He has all night to snatch

the smile from your lips if you should smile
to introduce as evidence at your trial

He holds the net in which you once caught
butterflies and has all night to net

thoughts you thought were private as
your mail once was You'll never guess

it has been opened You'll never know
who your accuser was or who

sentenced you -- a citizen grown alien
through internal emigration

as documented by the man in blue
who knows you better than you know you

© Jon Swan

The Uniform

The coup did not occur at some o’clock,
but as the language underwent estrangement.
You couldn’t understand unless you knew
beforehand, unless you had been trained.

Once you got the hang of it you wore it
like a uniform you could not remove
at night but slept in, and only dreamed
you had a skin that could be pricked.

The language was not altogether foreign,
but with German it had this in common,
that nouns began to do things on their own.
Therefore what you did was not a crime.

© Jon Swan

The Vial: 2/6/03

Citizen in the back of the room,
hold your applause until
the end of the program–

the show-and-tell, with the diagram
and the doomsday vial
held between forefinger and thumb,

the most powerful nation on earth,
selling snake oil.

© Jon Swan
A Garland for the Gasbag

The Great Gas Bag

The Great Gas Bag

Zero leaks and flees
escapes like gasses
self-inflates into balloon
rises in his self-esteem

Eyes rise in mute salute
Stiff arms follow suit
There is no uniform
that doesn’t fit a man

who waits to be begun
to join a regiment
of rage in which each
issued shirt turns brown

Let all hell break loose!
Let each his business
do in accordance with
the mood transmitted

by the big balloon in
nods and bobs in lingo
if it makes no sense no
matter He’s the boss

the commanding zero
the helium hero who
rules gassy heaven
like a combusting sun

 

One for the Groper!

Behold a geezer named Donald --
a groper, not a Gipper, like Ronald.
A lecherous phony,
he extrudes yards of baloney,
and when he ad-libs sounds addled.

© Jon Swan

The Fish Mistaken for a Man

I tried to explain that I was innocent, that
I had been talking about a bottom feeder,
a fish, and, under questioning, explained
that

groupers are ray-finned, and are typically
stout-bodied and large-mouthed, and that
their mouths and gills form a strong suck-
ing

system which can suck their prey in from
a considerable distance, known in politics
as a sphere of influence. As I spoke, I saw
that

the eyes of my interrogators slid sideways
as if to say You gotta be kidding, which was
not so. I had, I insisted, been talking about a
fish,

not of a hominid who might or might not be
ten fingers shy of a load, aye, a ten-fingered
fish out of water, out of his depth, not even
one

elected by a self-decreed landslide, although
it’s true that a grouper can weigh up to 220
pounds, heft of a groper wearing a long, red
tie

© Jon Swan

Taps, Muted

Of him it can truly
be said he was all bully
and no pulpit,
a bully who blamed others
when he was the culprit,
a master of ballyhoo
who blew his own trumpet,
and ruled by tantrum and tweet.

What to do with a leader
who leads us backward step by step?
Best would be
store item in a cool, dark place
pending return to sender.

Jon Swan

I. Flight from Manhattan II. Living Inland
IV. Arrival & Departures

V. The Ones Who Got Away

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