If you can fake a 4-F due to "bone spurs,"
With a podiatrist who rents from Dad,
And never go to war and win your own spurs,
But boast of dodging STDs instead;

If you can mock a Muslim Gold Star family
And decorated heroes like McCain,
And brag of "knowing" ISIS, oh so hammily,
But what you know, you never quite explain;

If you can tweet the soldiers out of Syria,
Betray the Kurds and leave our allies flat,
Till neither men nor mad dogs can be near ya,
But you've still got a tweet worth two of that;

If you can try to save your reputation
With a quick stop for selfies in Iraq,
Call the troops "suckers," give out their location,
Insult the country's leaders–to their back;

If you can dress in costumes and play Army
While getting every single detail wrong–
Your name is Drumpf. The whole world knows you're barmy,
And playing Chief Commander. Not for long.

by Cheryl Caesar

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Cheryl Caesar lived in Paris, Tuscany, and Sligo for 25 years. She studied at the Sorbonne and taught literature, phonetics and "civilization." She teaches writing at Michigan State University in East Lansing, demonstrates, reads and publishes protest poems in the U.S., Germany, India, Bangladesh, Yemen, and Zimbabwe. facebook.com/bindiwankatterpi


Blue Girls Revisited

Styling in your leggings, wildly designed,
Strutting to classes in your modern schools—
While texting. Roll your eyes at those old fools
Who think they're so refined.

Toss back the pink extensions in your hair,
And think no more of SATs at all.
But plan to meet BFFs at the mall
To shop for earrings there.

Make duck face selfies while guys who watch dream
about your lovely, well-toned flesh so tight.
It will sag some day, bringing no delight—
in spite of firming creams.

You think I don't know beauty, but I do!
I know a woman with a poison tongue
and beady eyes that used to be bright-blue.
She turned heads near and far when she was young
and surely knocked the shine off all of you.

by Janice Canerdy

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Janice Canerdy is a retired high school English teacher from Potts Camp, Mississippi. She has been writing poetry for over fifty years. She especially enjoys rhymed, metered poetry and gets a real charge out of parodying the famous poems she once shoved down her students' throats (while  assuring them that studying such noble literature would greatly enhance their lives).


Murray's Loss, Morrie's Gain
or, The Silent Treatment

Murray lost his little clam
one day along the beach.
He feared it had been swept away
by surf, beyond his reach.

He searched the shore, both high and low,
combed every grain of sand.
He called to it. It answered not:
clams are a silent band.

Morrie found that little clam
amid the tide's debris.
He talked to it, but mute the clam
remained as in the sea.

He took it off to school one day.
The clam broke not a rule:
the best behaved in class it was—
no doubt in all the school.

by Julian D. Woodruff

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Julian D. Woodruff came to literary invention while telling authorities in East Berlin how he lost his passport. His poetry appears on the websites of Carmina and The Society of Classical Poets. Reedsy and Frostfire Worlds have each issued a short story. He is a member of the Rochester, NY Area Children's Writers and Illustrators and SCBWI.