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President Putin
must be hootin’—
tricked the Yanks to vote a brute in!
Tried some far-out
home computin’
to keep the stateside rowdies rootin’.
The guy’s too sly:
all smiles, refutin’
prissy liberals’ highfalutin
complaints their voting wasn’t free.
Electoral integrity?
Just pretty words those Yanks look cute in.
How to keep
the troops salutin’—
that’s a man’s concern, darn tootin’!
Roll up the shirtsleeves,
start recruitin’
loyal subjects; start transmutin’
this carved up world
to one more suitin’.
Invite your enemy
out shootin’. Tell him,
“I’ll drive from here. Now scoot in.”
Lead him on
like old Rasputin—
propaganda’s Isaac Newton—
with money pits
to stash his loot in.
Seal the bargain.
Plant your boot in.
David Southward teaches in the Honors College at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. His poems have appeared most recently in Bramble, POEM, Measure, Verse-Virtual, and Unsplendid.