Sniff.
So, the Brazilian President has a teeny touch of the flu.
Boo hoo.
Both green and red-faced, but consumptively battling through.
Aaaatishoo!
‘Simply donning a mask could’ve protected me- and you?’
WHO knew?
Now he thinks wrapping a mask over his mouth is the right thing to do?
Waaaaay overdue.
He could have picked the itchy nose he had as his first clue;
It grew.
He sees the look in the grave eyes of his masked medical crew.
Code Blue.
©Obbverse
Who Sees A Problem?
Has our unmasked hero decided to stand up?
Donnny says he has masked up and manned up,
He says that mask makes him look like the Lone Ranger-
No more will he be laughing loonily in the face of danger.
But the Lone Ranger wore his mask to cover his eyes
Not as a medical protector but as a personal disguise,
Then, Don feared wearing a mask wouldn’t look Presidential, right?
Pushing a mouth mask up over his peepers, now don’t he look a sight?
Hey, even getting Don to consider any mask ranks as a bonus-
As his long-standing contemptuous sniffing at Corona’s shown us-
So even if he stumblingly emerges from the darkness, dimly blinking
At least it’s one baby-step on his journey out of blind blinkered thinking.
©Obbverse
That Open Infectious Smile.
Here’s a question too few Trump flunkies dare to ask;
‘Mr President Sir, why don’t you deign to don a mask?’
Even when Mr doting lap-dog Vice-President Pence
Says wearing a protective mask makes Great sense?
Now, covering up old affairs Don sees as only sensible,
No-one, certainly not Don, wants to look reprehensible.
Don believes his cherub-cheeked face is his shining glory,
That his sunny saintly smile can sell any half-assed story.
See, he wants his words to ring out strong and clear,
To spread his sick sad soliloquies into the atmosphere.
Ask about his taxes though, and he draws the veil,
When it comes back to taxes, privacy must prevail.
Don has facts he’ll openly doctor, and grudges to nurse
So why would he mask the brightest star in his universe?
Donald wants to show his public the full-frontal view,
The fake tan, the pearly white teeth, the eyes o’ blue.
Squint below the tinted TRESemme-ed locked-down hair
And see what cold soulless depths lie deep down there?
But, clothing his mouth… nope, Don could never embrace it;
He’d look even more like a bandit in a bandana, let’s face it.
(Background theme for this could be Frank Zappa ‘I’m The Slime’. Just a thought, I’m in a whimsical mood today.)
©Obbverse.
Return Of Service.
Oh, naive Novak Djokovic, where have you been?
Traipsing around Serbia, serving up Covid-nineteen?
Showing unmasked contempt for any possible vaccine
Till a routine swab returns results Novak hadn’t foreseen,
Novak was positive his snot samples would come back clean:
Gone from playing in open tournaments to staying in quarantine.
©Obbverse
Tulsa Turnaround.
The Trump Tribe were a’beating a path to his Tulsa rally,
The Okie dopey’s all a’lined up to be wowed by the high chief,
But today Donald’s high expectations for his crowd don’t tally,
Don’s claims for his latest GreatesT sell-out strain only belief.
Though rural Oklahoma’s no place Slick City Don wishes to dally
Still Donald’s speech rambles on, he wouldn’t think to make it brief,
His is the biggest shit-storm that’s ever blown down Tornado Alley-
Any protester he sees is a window-breaking rapacious pillaging thief.
Donald tries hard to work the thin crowd up to a cheering finale,
For those not his enamoured fans the limp end came as a grim relief,
It’s a climax as faked as Ms. Ryan evinced in ‘When Harry Met Sally,’
Perhaps here in the Big O is where Don’s re-election comes to grief?
©Obbverse
Parked Up, Off Street.
Call me one crazy cat
Or crazy as a shit-house rat,
Or a footloose lush and loser.
I’m a surly solitary soul,
An unsociable drunk, on the whole,
Happy alone, I don’t think.
Back outside here I’m sat,
Back in my natural habitat,
Tipplin’ back ‘nother Vodka Cruiser.*
Life keeps taking a spiritual toll
So I keep filling the empty hole
With every drop I can drink.
*Cheap and nasty Kiwi alcopop.
©Obbverse
Nothing To Sniff At.
My poorly daughter had to take a Coronavirus test,
She had the rheumy eyes, the hacking racking cough,
The red rubbed raw philtrum, the sputum filled chest
That feels constrained by a corset that won’t shuck off.
She found the testy nurse testing her tough to forgive,
It’s no fun when Nurse Ratched gets right up your nose,
The diagnosis she bitchily delivered back was a ‘negative,’
That’s almost worth a bloody deviated septum I suppose.
Imperfect 2020 Vision.
The bright new year started with a descent into sickness,
But never fear, not when we’ve our Doctor Don on your case!
Don dispensed with any treatments with breath-taking quickness,
Doctor Don’s considered response took up too much breathing space.
After all, his diagnosis was Mild Chinese Influenza,
He couldn’t imagine it would settle in these here parts,
For the Genius who’s applied for membership of MENSA
Admitting making such a dumbass decision definitely smarts.
Dimly Don saw poor common people being sorely afflicted
Then, hot on the heels of covid came the stock market crash,
Mortality rising, property falling means he’s personally affected,
Don sobs at seeing the figures, the senseless loss of cold hard cash.
But now, with masked criminals roaming the dark streets
Generallisimo Don’s response is sure, swift and mighty hard,
Now its time for cool heads, Big Whopper Don turns up the heat!
Soon you literally won’t be able to breath for all the National Guard.
©Obbverse
What Numbers Really Count?
Fly high that flag,
Strike up that band,
Don don’t wanna brag
But ain’t US grand?
‘Merica still is Number One
When totting up the covid tally,
But don’t sum up, the fun’s just begun
As Dons supporters begins to rally.
Combine Britain, Italy and Spain
And USA stays top o’ the heap,
‘Merica beats Brazil by twice again,
But that’s a record Don can keep.
He’s unbelievably willing and able
To show us he’s a gen-u-ine genius,
Red based and so rock solidly stable;
So he oh so incessantly tells us.
In Donald’s Disunited States
Since this ‘little flu’ took hold
US surpassing all mortality rates
Ironically left many Don supporters cold.
Respectfully dropping standards to half-mast
Don knew what he had to do,
Donald acted, and acted fast
By opening up and smiling through.
But don’t you feel danged proud,
Don’t it thrill chill your mortal soul
To repurpose Old Glory as a funeral shroud,
Helping hide a Memorable veterans toll?
One hundred thousand covid dead,
And lo, that number’s growing,
Unmasked, unchecked, see it spread
Wither the fu fickle winds a’blowing.
Through Don’s impressive leadership
The sad bad numbers keep on rising,
Don won’t let his impassive mask slip.
Figures; he’s quite adept at disguising.
Donny has surpassed the highest test,
‘Merica must always takes first place,
Amongst Don’s GreaT people he’s the best,
Their truly exceptional special case.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Don stands shadowed by his flapping flag,
Teary of eye, tremulous of hand,
These numbers do make his shoulders sag-
He’ll never get his ball out of the sand.
©Obbverse
The New Asstocracy.
Oh, how I long to be just like Always Right Dominic,
To fly in the face of rules, regulations and simple logic,
To ignore draconian strictures, to freely Range Roverly roam,
Really drive that massive sense of entitlement 420 miles home.
No ‘Hi Boris, bye, its bestie Dom, I’m blowing this town,
I’m driving up to the pater’s farm till my fever’s died down,’
No, Dom just upped and left his locked-down London precinct
Driving 420 miles fuelled on pure arrogance and ‘parental instinct.’
No Number Ten man can control Mister Cumming-or-going
for the man who advises the PM is so all wise and all knowing,
And the PM understands the ordeal poor Dom’s been through;
For the elite true blue few it’s always ‘Do as we say, not as we do.’
