Monday, January 29, 2018

No. 258: The Craven (partie la seconde)

(with continuing apologies to Edgar Allan Poe and, I suppose, poetry lovers everywhere)

Previously on The Craven (No.257.1):

Once upon a midnight tweeting. . .
Repeating lies of greater size. . .
suddenly I heard a tapping. . .
perhaps the maid. . .
“It's Robert Mueller!”

Today's episode:

 Then through the door a horde did burst, Robert Mueller being first,
Scattering my platter of Big Macs upon the bedroom floor.
  Amidst the throng I spied my lawyer, who Mueller cornered in the foyer,
  “Please inform your client he has the right to remain silent,
though silence I suspect 's a state your client can't endure.”
      I grabbed a burger off the floor.  

  Mouth stuffed, I cried a bluff, “Lay off, Macduff! Damn, hold enough! 
This is TRUMP you're dealing with! How dare you crash my chamber door!”
  From some hidden inner pocket, Mueller extracted a court docket
  Listing warrants by the torrent (which I, frankly, found abhorrent). 
“Documents,” he decreed, “which you need to read and heed.” 
     “Documents!” quoth I, “Indeed!”,
     and dumped them on the floor.

[to be continued?]