You’d better not cough. You’d better stay well.
They’re cordoning off E.R.s for a spell.
Frantic calls are getting them down.
The hospital’s forced to shutter one wing.
It’s under-resourced, and care’s in a sling.
Frantic calls, no hospital gown.
They’ll pass you when you’re sleeping
On gurneys in a hall.
They hope a room’s available
But they haven’t got the call.
The staff is off sick. The beds are all full.
No options to pick. No chance to use pull.
Sainted care is go-ing to ground.
* * * * *
Silent? Not.
Wholly fraught.
Convoys camped
In one spot.
Bouncy castles and bullhorns unpacked.
Trudeau used the Emergencies Act.
Overkill or essential?
Answer’s more Rorschach than fact.
* * * * *
Deck the halls with bawls of howdy.
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Climate summit’s cheers are rowdy.
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
See them all say, “Time for action!”
Fa la la, la la la, la la la.
Then sit back with satisfaction.
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
“What about this awful climate?”
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Forceful speech – go on and time it.
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
“Still, you know, there’s complications.”
Fa la la, la la la, la la la.
Leave it to the other nations.
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
* * * * *
On the twelfth day of Christmas,
Statscan alerted me:
Twelve is thirteen now,
Lifted by inflation,
Tentative pricing,
Nein – now it’s fourteen.
Ache at the prospect,
Severed from a baseline.
Sick – now it’s fifteen.
Fie on this rise.
For Christmas Day
Fees sky-high
Do in our plans.
Have a part-share in a poor tree.
* * * * *
Putin the reckless raider
Has a wooden puppet’s nose.
Each time Ukraine is mentioned
You can watch it as it grows.
All of the other nations
Gaze in horror as he acts.
Grist for a war-crimes trial
In the toll that he exacts.
One thing he did not expect
Was Ukraine’s response.
Russian conscripts flee his war
As he calls up more and more.
Oh, how the nations shudder
At the mania they see.
That’s how the reckless raider
Will go down in history.
* * * * *
False T the Showman
Was a most unhappy soul.
His endorsement list
Very often missed
As his picks dropped through a hole.
Groused T, “You know, man,
This election robbed my base.
All the counts were fixed.”
But they may have nixed
All his plans for one more race.
There’s really something tragic
In the way he carries on.
He’ll keep on talking through his hat,
While enablers buy his con.
False T the Showman
Is a nasty crocodile,
And just like the crocs
Near Egyptian docks
He is swimming in denial.
* * * * *
Angles Boris vainly tried,
Parties held as Covid raged.
Colleagues vanished from his side.
Futile were the stunts he staged.
To-o-o-orya. In excesses daily.
To-o-o-orya. In excesses daily.
So the party went with Truss,
Keen to give the rich a break.
Markets tumbled – what a fuss.
Critics branded her a flake.
To-o-o-orya. In excesses daily.
To-o-o-orya. In excesses daily.
So who’s left? It’s Sunak’s turn.
Can he right the ship of state?
Will MPs support or spurn?
Will Great Britain drop the “Great”?
To-o-o-orya. In excesses daily.
To-o-o-orya. In excesses da-ai-ly.
* * * * *
Goad king Elon Musk lashed out
At the feats of Twitter.
Said its numbers were in doubt.
Robots made him bitter.
“So I’ll buy it. No I won’t.
Yes I will. Well maybe.”
“Musk, we’ll sue you if you don’t.
Don’t be such a ba-a-by.”
Now he owns the whole shebang.
Says he’ll give it freedom.
Quickly fired the ruling gang.
Said he didn’t need ‘em.
Heaven knows what he intends.
Nobody else seems to.
Hate to guess how this one ends,
Making all trolls’ drea-eams true.
* * * * *
Juggle bills,
Cut out thrills,
Throw that trip away.
Oh what fun it is to writhe
As inflation makes us pay. Hey!
Int’rest rate
Isn’t great
‘Xcept in GICs.
Just like lobsters
Bank of Can.
Will boil us by degrees.
Dashing through the cash
Fill the tank and rush about.
O’er the fields we go
Till the gas runs out.
Maybe we’ll complain –
After all, it’s free.
Still, what fun it is to guess
What the next rate hike will be.
* * * * *
You better watch out. You bet you’ll shake heads.
Alberta’s D. Smith is miffed with the feds.
Danielle Smith is go-ing to town.
She’s making a law, she’s backing a horse
That seems to lack constitutional force.
Gauntlets – Smith is throwing them down.
If irked by fed’ral laws, she
May tell folks: Don’t obey.
She’ll tell you if it’s good or bad
So the feds won’t have their way.
The chances are good you’ll hear a loud snort
The day the Smith law arrives in a court.
Till then, Smith is go-ing to town.
* * * * *
Grumbling Premier Ford looked out
At the unions grievin’.
Nurses, others, milled about.
Ford was disbelievin’.
“Nightly have I called them saints.
Words, they’ve heard me say them.
We’ll do all to ease their plaints –
Anything but pa-ay them.”
* * * * *
Here come Satan’s claws,
Here come Satan’s claws –
Back up all you hold dear.
You’re caught unaware –
Evil ransomware
Means no files’ll appear.
Best ask Santa Claus
How to fix the flaws
In your company’s tech.
Else its hellish ways
Mean some hellish days
And words stronger than “heck.”
* * * * *
We wince at the diagnosis,
Despite all the vaccine doses.
The verdict our home test shows is
Clear proof we’ve been hit.
We always wore masks
And washed our hands well.
So how’d we come down with Covid?
No way we can tell.
We brace for our isolation,
With bed rest and good hydration,
And practice our lamentation:
We’re ill for Noël.
The red lines appear,
Although we feel well.
We wish you a merry Christmas
From our bedroom-cum-cell.
- Warren Clements