Sitting on a shady bench,
I watch the people pass -
Every shape and color,
Strolling sweatily en masse.

Shirtless daddies, many fat,
With bellies hanging out,
Arms and legs and backs tattooed
(And other parts, no doubt).

Moms deciding where to go,
Cajoling tots in line;
Babies, toddlers, school-age kids
In every stage of whine.

Heat pours down and patience frays.
Wait! Here's a parade.
Cookie Monster, Ernie, Bert
And Oscar make the grade.

Then it's back to water slides
And one more carousel.
Squeals and shrieks of joy erupt -
It's fun! (or can't you tell?)

Hungry! Thirsty! Feed me now!
Nacho stand is closed.
See the stress within the smiles
Of pictures poorly posed.

Still, the fam's together
And we're mostly having fun.
I check my watch - 6 hours left
Until this day is done.

Today the Queen of Soul has passed
And all the fans she has amassed
Feel saddened by this latest news,
Since she was one we hate to lose.

As listeners, we did rejoice
When hearing her distinctive voice
And she's the person, I suspect,
We think of with the word "Respect."

For R-E-S-P-E-C-T
Shouted out, we'd all agree,
Says it all, what we all need
In life, in order to succeed.

Aretha sang it loud and strong.
She made an anthem of that song
And no one has improved it yet;
In tribute, we will not forget.

(to the tune of "Love and Marriage")

Trump and Putin, Trump and Putin -
Both seem oh-so-very highfalutin,
With such praises gushin.'
(Though who knows what was said in Russian?)

Trump and Putin, Trump and Putin -
When you see them, you should start salutin.'
Since they both love power,
Admiration we should shower.

Why, why, why then do we hate them?
Just pick a reason.
Lie, lie, lie to us until we think
It must be treason.

Trump and Putin, Trump and Putin -
If you think they're bad, you're right, **** tootin.'
Hawks of likewise feather
And I would bet that their duet
Has no Nyet yet - Bullies together!

In London, the crowds got to swoon
At a 20-foot orange balloon
Of a baby, quite plump,
Looking very like Trump
As he often appears – a buffoon.

His huge mouth is agape with a scream,
Surely spouting a foul-sounding theme
And his little hand grasps
What inspires some gasps –
That’s his phone, with its Twitter-type stream.

So the “welcome” the planners conceived
And that Londoners thereby achieved
Was a slap in the face
Bringing Donald disgrace
And the chance to see how he’s perceived.

Hey, Scott Pruitt!
We all knew it
Soon would come to this.

Rumors flew; it
Seemed you blew it.
Truth you would dismiss.

Anger’d brew; it
Looked like, “***** it!”
Were the words you’d hiss.

You’d pooh-pooh it
As on view it
Seemed you were amiss.

How’d you do it?
Breeze right through it,
Seemingly in bliss?

Well, Scott Pruitt,
Now boo-hoo it!
You we will not miss!

Trump’s head of the EPA

I wonder, as we near the 4th of July,
If the British take note, with a sonorous sigh,
Regretting the fact of the colonies lost
All those long years ago at a terrible cost.

In light of political forces today,
I think it’s more likely that what they would say
Is, “Whew! We were lucky we cut off those ties
And we thought that their accents were all to despise!”

You don’t need fancy toys or food
To entertain your friends or brood,
Just lots of real attention paid
To reinforce connections made.

For love is felt when it goes deep
And every kinship that you keep
Will thrive when nurtured like a plant;
Indifference, though, will disenchant.

Forget the showy gifts and treats.
Affection paired with time completes
Attachments goods cannot replace;
The truth in this we should embrace.