Thursday, September 8
A Word of Advice
Yeah, the campaign road is quite a schlep. Oh!
It demands lots of vigor and pep. Oh,
And also some prep
Lest you make a misstep
Like wondering out loud, “What’s Aleppo?”
Wednesday, September 7
Don says Hill does not look “presidential.”
She should choose a job more residential.
She should bake us a cookie
(She should give Bill some nookie)
And fulfill her God-given potential.
Tuesday, September 6
I know news of a death should not thrill us,
But it’s hard to feel sorrow for Phyllis—
So self-righteously mean.
No, I just cannot keen
For that horrid, infectious bacillus
Who took on a nice church lady’s shape,
Saying “good girls do not suffer rape,”
And who fought equal rights
All her days and her nights.
No, from Phyllis I’m glad to escape.
To Trump’s people I must my hat doff
As they focus on Hillary’s cough.
There is no place so low
That the campaign won’t go.
There is nothing from which they’ll back off.
Meanwhile, Hillary stayed on her game.
Said whenever she says Donald’s name,
That her allergies act up.
And her audience cracked up.
She can douse it when Donald throws flame.
Or let’s hope so, ’cause now a new poll
Shows them in a dead heat to the goal.
No, I am not kidding—
Clinton’s numbers are skidding.
Oh, I want to crawl into a hole.
Monday, September 5
The Clinton Team
As Hill sucks up to Henry and George,
A relationship hoping to forge,
I feel very uneasy.
Yeah, I feel kinda queasy—
Like my dinner I’m gonna disgorge.
Friday, September 2
Just taco trucks? What? No falafel?
Nor a nice ice cream-topped Belgian waffle?
And no shish kebob? Donuts?
Not a pretzel? I’ll go nuts!
It sounds absolutely god-awful!
James Waller is Mediander’s “Deadline Limericist.” (Apologies to Calvin Trillin, The Nation’s longtime “Deadline Poet” and, in James’s opinion, a much more versatile versifier.)
Photo credit: Scott Morgan/Associated Press