*
Did Turpin’s Troupe
Drop him
Deep in the Soup?
*
That Devil’s cast of scallywags
and wild-haired, grinning hags…
who still adorn the plastered walls
in glory’s glossy prima-face.
There now to tease and please
the local populace.
*
And tell their tales of times
much less genteel
when stench and reek
roamed every wayward street.
*
But how, to climb up an’ out
the grime of fetid mire
where every winsome wench
would rightly kiss and tell…?
*
Black Jake, alas
went on the make…
and now he’s hoisted higher
than ol’ church spire…
where we’ll watch him fry in hell.
*
France & Vincent 
You had me a ‘Cadged.’ Seriously, I thought I misread it at first. Then I thought it was misspelled. Then I looked it up. By the end, I’d found a new word friend and I appreciate the imagery of President Trump hoist on the petard of his angry horde. (If I have mangled my understanding of the poem, I apologize. I can only see the world through the current grim lens of what’s happening in Washington D.C. Let’s hope someone wipes the view clean and we can see the world in a better, brighter light soon.)
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