We trek through tariffying times.
Such times shout out for
sheriffs.
Sometimes, such times drum up a Drumpf,
one handy with his
tariffs,
a Drumpf who sees economies
through isolation’s prism,
who feels it’s fine to fall in line
with home-grown
tariffism.
But don’t forget:
a
helping hand is not an iron fist.
One voter’s chosen one
is yet another’s tariffist.
Poet Poe pens nonsense verse. "...plus phun," puns Uly, "I disburse." Its gamut runs from spam to worse. The matter posted...? Poe's diverse -- most, postcards from his universe, replies to grudges he must nurse. My summary...? Let me be terse: a mitzva, mostly. (Not a curse.)
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