Tasty Pies

Tasty Pies

 

What does Ma Richards bake in tasty pies?
Only the most elite ingredients.
Here her advantage, pie fans, is immense.
Into her pies go little fetal eyes
And crunchy femurs of prenatal size
And brains and spines and hearts and livers. Hence
The flavor, so distinctive and intense!
On the top, there’s a glaze of feeble lies.
Perhaps you disapprove. Hey, don’t complain!
For human tissues have known far worse fates.
This way, some part of them will yet remain
Profitable when sold at steady rates.
In People magazine, and not in vain,
A whole admiring culture celebrates.

 

—Tom Riley

 

(Baby body part profiteer Cecile Richards bakes pies.)

Purity Police

Purity Police

 

Dangerous foreign blonde approached the car—
But all-American Mohamed Noor
Was ready, though a trifle insecure.
How can Somali heroes know how far
An Aussie girl might go? The perils are
Real perils, for the Infidel’s impure!
He pulled the trigger quick, just to be sure.
And now in the Department he’s a star.
He saved us from that bright and charming smile.
He saved us from her foul white privilege too.
The customs of the West have long been vile—
But he helped to reform them. Made anew,
America should celebrate in style.
Her women, though, should cover up on cue.

 

—Tom Riley

 

(Quota cop who killed Aussie blonde may never face charges.)

Computer in the Classroom

Computer in the Classroom

 

On an internet site, she seeks men—
While her students look on. Now and then
She will turn and pretend
That she cares how they end
Their exam. Then she’s surfing again.

 

—Tom Riley

Your Next Task

Your Next Task

 

Sir, your next task is far from exciting.
Only mollusks would find it inviting.
Still, you have to proceed
With your day. We shall lead—
And you follow. No resting. No fighting.

 

—Tom Riley

Peace

Peace

 

“Let’s have peace — for the score means I’ve won!
Let’s have peace — for the struggle is done!
Let’s have peace now, O foe!”
“I incline to say no.”
“Hey, your stubbornness isn’t much fun!”

 

—Tom Riley

In the Kill Room

In the Kill Room

 

We’re all cheering for Dexter to kill.
We all pray he’ll pursue with a will
His unusual mission.
And we feel no contrition:
We are sure we are innocent still.

 

—Tom Riley

Soft-Boiled

Soft-Boiled

 

The detective goes out of his way
To take punishment. Captured, he’ll say
Zero, friends, to the cops.
He pulls out all the stops.
Is that my code as well? Not today.

 

—Tom Riley

Drunk Is Bad

Drunk Is Bad

 

Drunk is bad. Yes! Oh, drunk is a curse!
It undoes a lad’s whole universe
In the blink of an eye.
Slaves of drink, hear my cry!
Drunk is bad, yes — but sober is worse.

 

—Tom Riley

Temptresses

Temptresses

 

They probed his wounded judgment in the waste—
And found it wanting, as they knew they would.
How swiftly righteous pride defects from good!
Toward sheer destruction it proceeds with haste
After you give it just a little taste.
In its soliloquies both could and should
Figure immensely. In its neighborhood
Are faceless neighbors, never to be faced.
Temptresses they were not — not in the sense
Reserved in common speech for words that glitter.
Their every exhalation gave offense.
Their every stab at sweetness turned out bitter.
Nevertheless, he panted for events
That they delivered like a she-wolf’s litter.

 

—Tom Riley

Ready for Battle

Ready for Battle

 

His ass could occupy half of Seattle,
But nonetheless he’s acting debonair.
Wits are engaged. He’s ready for the battle.
He is so smart it really isn’t fair,
He tells himself. His heap of facial hair
Makes him a man. Hey, call me Wolf! he thinks.
He claims his Facebook page as proper lair.
His hands stained with imaginary inks,
He boldly posts the latest leftist links.
His internet activity alone
Renders him hero. Nay, he never blinks
When staring at the screen. He’s in the zone!
He’ll defeat Hitler’s minions, folks — although
Hitler croaked seventy long years ago.

 

—Tom Riley