"This ABC treats of a number of things..." Buff! A Nonsense ABC

 

This ABC treats of a number of things, 

not merely mikados, kahns, kaisers and kings.

One's history tells one (and everyone knows):

one's rulers are frequently seen without clothes.

Sans clothing? One's president? Heaven forfend!

(Though who would not willingly witness his end?)

A’s an aal and an almond, not prunes and a pear,

and the Archduke’s appar’l ain’t (apparently) there.

B’s a flugel, no bugle, no dobro, no drum,

and the Brigidier’s bay window’s bare as his bum.

C’s a chug, not a jugful; no tipple, no tea.

‘Course the Caliph’s chimere’s worn…chimerically. 

D’s a den, not a henhouse; no cowshed, no croft.

Damn that Doge! He’s denuded: drei doublets he’s doffed. 

E’s an eaglet, no piglet; no boobie or beast.

El Effendi’s exuviae’s exited east.

F is a first finger. Curse finger (first)? Nope, nor thumb.

Fact: the Field Marshall’s finery’s faded. (Fo, fum!)

G’s a gown. Hand-me-down? No, nor half-hose, nor hood.

Granted, Guv’s gorgeous gaberdine’s gone. (Gone for good!)

H? Some hops. No herb crops, malabathrum or mint.

Hides His Highness his hide? Hardly (barely!) a hint.

I? Intoned (monophoned), no polyphonied psalm.

In his “au natural” is the idjit Imam.

J’s a jar. Samovar? Nyet! No flagon; no firkin.

Jee-e-eez! Jemadar’s jettisoned jack boots and jerkin. 

K’s a Krupp (a stick-up) gun, though not with a hilt,

while the Kaiser’s kicked free of both Keds and his kilt.

L is lard (soft, not hard). Butter? Not, nor Pashtun ghee.

The Liege Lord loved losing his loincloth (his lungi). 

M’s a minium: Delphinium (though possibly black).

Mais moi Monarch is missing much more than his mack.

N’s a nest (Angler’s Rest), not a hovel or hut,

and the Nabob’s now naked – no ‘if’s, ‘and’s…(one butt)

O’s O’Casey, not Gracie; not Dylan or Donne.

Of the Oligarch’s olive drabs? Oo-o-o-oops! Only one.

P’s pistou, not foudue, not a chili or chowder.

Plus, Pope Paul’s PJs? Paul’s pair (poof!) pulled a powder.

Q’s a quaff, no carafe, not a caldron or cask.

The Queen’s Consort has quit his Qiana (don’t ask).

R’s a red (fully keyed), not a musical saw.

Right! And Rajah runs rings ‘round and ‘round in the raw.

S is swing, buck-‘n’-wing, neither bebop or blues. 

So swings Shah, sans suits, sweats, socks, shirts, shorts…Shit! Sans shoes! 

T’s a tuppence, no thruppence, no dinar, drachm.

Then there’s Tsar taking trousers off – them and the tam.

U’s an urn, no epergne, neither sachels nor sacks.

Us the Ubermensch urges to “Ugh! Just unlax…”

V’s Vent’reno, Capeno, not Skagit nor Sioux.

Vay! The Vice-Viceroy’s vestments have vanished from view.

What a warhorse! (Not your horse: no mustang or mare).

While the Ward Boss Ward’s waltzing, Ward’s wardrobe waits. (Where?) 

X? An X-Ray: convex ray, no spyglass or specs.

The Xabandar’s “’xposed.” (Rating? Quadruplex X!)

Y’s a yak, not a finback; no duck or dugong.

(D’you think you’ll see Your Majesty’s yashmak? You’re wrong.)

Z’s a Zuni, no Sunni, no Pequot, no Paiute.

Zounds! Zupan’s sans supan: no zizith, no zoot suit.

And fin’lly, regarding King Donald the Trump,

though I haven’t the wish to examine his rump,

it’s with glee that I’d see Donald’s raiment ker-plop --

if such circumstance brought the man’s reign to a stop.