IF AMERICA FOUGHT WORLD WAR II LIKE COVID-19

by Jon Wesick

More people in the United States have died this year from Covid-19 than were killed in four years of fighting on the battlefields during World War II, according to the latest NBC News data. —NBC News, December 11, 2020

The President calls it Fake News

and urges Americans to buy Japanese.

As hundreds of thousands die

in Guadalcanal and Normandy, the public

adopts swastikas and Hitler salutes

in disdain for the “liberal media.”

 

No scrap drives, no Rosie the Riveter, just Emperor Hirohito

on the cover of Life Magazine. Gilligan and the Skipper

shadow convoys across the Atlantic

and radio their positions to lurking U boats.

Calling him an “Antifa terrorist,” Gomer Pyle  

mails Audie Murphy death threats. Barney Fife

kidnaps General Eisenhower and tries him for treason.

 

A lot of people, really important people,

say this is a terrific generation, maybe the most terrific

of all. Terrific is better than greatest, okay.

It’s huge. Better than the generation that freed

the slaves, too. Bunch of losers, so sad. 

Why terrific? Winning. It’s true.

So much winning

 

Jon Wesick is a regional editor of the San Diego Poetry Annual. He’s published hundreds of poems and stories in journals such as the Atlanta Review, Berkeley Fiction Review, Metal Scratches, The New Verse News, Pearl, Slipstream, Space and Time, Tales of the Talisman, and Zahir. The editors of Knot Magazine nominated his stories “The Visitor” and “A Story for the Rest of Us” for Pushcart Prizes. His poem “Meditation Instruction” won the Editor’s Choice Award in the 2016 Spirit First Contest. Another poem “Bread and Circuses” won second place in the 2007 African American Writers and Artists Contest. “Richard Feynman’s Commute” shared third place in the 2017 Rhysling Award’s short poem category. Jon is the author of the poetry collections Words of Power, Dances of Freedom and A Foreigner Wherever I Go as well as several novels and short story collections. His most recent novel is The Enigma Brokers.

ON NOT WINNING THE LOTTERY AND THE WISDOM OF STEPHEN WRIGHT

by Wayne Scheer

So a billion and a half bucks
went to someone else,
someone who bought a lottery ticket
after pumping gas
or buying a container of milk at the supermarket,
someone who threw down a couple of dollars
on a whim.

This means I won't be cruising around the world anytime soon,
or wearing tailor made suits,
or donating to my favorite causes,
or financing friends and family.
No new cars in my future,
no new mansions, no summer homes in The Hamptons
with servants to cook and clean for me.

This means I'll be spending time at home
sleeping in my own bed, my head on my own pillow,
wearing comfortable jeans, driving my 1995 Mazda,
donating twenty bucks now and then to a good cause,
helping family and friends by being there for them, sans checkbook,
and my wife will continue cooking comfortable meals
and I will continue cleaning up afterward.

I'll have free time to write and read,
follow baseball news and politics,
watch cop shows on television with my sweetheart at my side.

There will be no need
to speak with lawyers, estate planners, tax consultants, financial advisors,
real estate agents, interior designers, travel consultants
and distant cousins
with a once-in-a-lifetime investment opportunity.

I didn't buy a lottery ticket
like that guy who won a billion and a half bucks
because I already have what I need,
and as Stephen Wright says,
“You can't have everything. Where would you put it?”

Wayne Scheer has been nominated for four Pushcart Prizes and two Best of the Nets. He's published numerous stories, poems, and essays in print and online including Revealing Moments, a collection of flash stories. His short story “Zen and the Art of House Painting” has been made into a short film.

SWAGGER TIME

by Michael Brockley

Image source: OKdoodle

After VICE reports that White House staffers deliver a folder filled with complimentary news twice a day to Donald T***p.

You’ve got that Ron Jeremy thing going, what with your necktie bulging from your crotch. The alpha dog always lets the runway walkers know what he’s packing. You're numero uno in Chico, CA and Beattyville, KY. You're not yet tired of winning. The picture of you in this morning’s paper grasped the essence of your majesty. That angle where your shoulders could almost be a wall. Your Rushmore jaw. Your golden mane. No wonder some kid from West Virginia rated you the all-time greatest president for infinity. Better than that guy with a big stick. You've only been the Leader of the Free World seven months, but those blondes on FOX keep saying you're a lock for 2020. The graph-drawing dweebs and pollsters had to invent higher numbers just for you. Like the newest figures on the bottom line of your bank accounts. In Muscle Shoals Ted Nugent and Kid Rock have recorded an album of Trump anthems, naming the first single “Make America Great Again.” A release date set in time to fight the war on Christmas. By the way, “Covfefe Snow” would make a stirring Christmas carol for 3 Doors Down. Along the border, folks are volunteering to carry bricks for your wall. The Army Corps of Engineers herds jaguars and roadrunners across the Rio Grande while handing out free MAGA hats. Like you, everyone in Brownsville wears an extra-large. Tomorrow Jeopardy debuts a category they're calling America’s Greatest Hits. The answer to every question will be “Who is Donald Trump?” All the world’s First Ladies wish they could ride Air Force One with you.

Michael Brockley is a 67-year old Hoosier who retired from a 31-year career as a school psychologist in northeast Indiana. A few of his poems have appeared in past editions of TheNewVerse.News, and recent poems were published in Atticus Review, Gargoyle and Jokes Review. Poems are forthcoming in the Tipton Poetry Journal.