“Longest way round is shortest way home”—James Joyce.
Today’s show is another round with that spectacular, sparkling, sparring pair of roustabouts, Nina Serrano and Jack Foley, all awhirl with rigmarole and wordly wisecracks. They’ve been around for many a year, roundly producing round ups of poetry and opinion, song and snappy patter, honey sweet and sour sober. Expect the unexpected. Not even they will know what passes for news on the Trumpfront and many another. If a president is impeached will he be impaired? Round and round it goes, and where it stops nobody knows.
Here is Nina:
Dear New Friend
Thank you dear new friend
You see me as I want to be seen
in technicolor
dangling stones shells and scarves
a living homage to Isadora Duncan Frida Kahlo
and Gertrude Stein in flat sturdy supportive shoes
ready to take on the old boy club from the left or the right
Also Meridel LeSeur feminist working class writer
of immigrant Minnesota
resurrected by the second wave of feminists in her very old age
And Mary Rudge beloved Poet Laureate of Alameda
Dear New Friend overlooking kindly my limping
confusion forgetfulness and curving back
difficulty getting up and down
head thrust forward by the years
of peering into a future that has now arrived
Dear New Friend
so much living piled behind me and my poems
My stuffing spills out unbidden with scraps of knowledge and stories
The impact of changing diapers folding laundry
and long bedside vigils still defines me
I seek the eyes of babies passing in strollers and carriers
to smile at them
so they know they are recognized and welcome
My public self a peacock
my private self a homing pigeon
resting her head under a tucked wing
A tamed canary singing indoors
tunes picked up like a parrot from the social ambience
I enjoy the re-invention of myself as an octogenarian
a rare breed in the history of the human race
Death beckons
but I ignore his cues and signals
He has to catch me first
and then hang on because
I’m learning how to slip away
so I can go out and play
with my Dear New Friend
and all of her friends
And this is from Jack:
MR. GALLAGHER, MR. SHEAN, MR. TRUMP
Oh, Mr. Gallagher
Mr. Shean
Oh, Mr. Gallagher
Yes, I’m here
Have you heard about our latest president
Well, what’s the news
He bans every bird and man, oh,
That comes back from Capistrano
I believe that he’d abscond with all my rent
Oh, Mr. Shean
Mr. Shean
He’s a president who’s very low and mean
If you take a second look
You’ll conclude that he’s a crook
No compassion, Mr. Gallagher
He’s a tyrant, Mr. Shean
Oh, Mr. Gallagher
Yes, hello
Mr. Gallagher
I’m still listening
Have you heard of Mr. Mueller’s new report
What of Trump?
How he greases Russian wheels
And makes very shady deals
I believe that he will end up in the court
Oh, Mr. Shean,
Mr. Shean,
He will soon go down just like a submarine
The subpoenas all he ducks
They say justice he obstructs
He’s a sly one, Mr. Gallagher
He’s an outlaw, Mr. Shean
Oh, Mr. Gallagher
I am he
Mr. Gallagher
Can’t you see
I am really quite a patriot at heart
Yes, you are
You see, Liberty’s not static
It is rich and democratic
There’s room for everyone to play a part
Oh, Mr. Shean,
Mr. Shean,
I’d say I know exactly what you mean
Though I rarely ever brag
I salute and love the flag
It’s America, Mr. Gallagher
Land of Liberty, Mr. Shean
Oh, Mr. Gallagher
Mr. Shean
Mr. Gallagher
I’m right here
How I love that word, it’s called Diversity
A fine word!
We began our country thus
It became our biggest plus
I love to sing “Our country ’tis of THEE”
Oh, Mr. Shean
Oh, Mr. Shean
I believe you’ve hit it strictly on the bean
I am Irish, you’re a Jew
Mexicans and Muslims too
Don’t forget the ones from Africa—
They are great ones, Mr. Shean
Oh, Mr. Gallagher
Mr. Shean
Mr. Gallagher
Mr. Shean
There are other voices singing our old song
Yes, there are
I can hear them day and night
Making rhymes the way we might
Do you think that anyone will sing along?
Oh, Mr. Shean
Mr. Shean
It’s the action of the phonograph machine
We are dead and gone to glory
Someone else must tell our story
They sing proudly, Mr. Gallagher
We’re still living, Mr. Shean
(bis) They sing proudly, Mr. Gallagher
We’re still living, Mr. Shean
With apologies to the spirits of Ed Gallagher (1873-1929) and Al Shean (1868-1949).