Another Duel


With Apologies to Eugene Field



The shamrock-print dog, and the kelly-co cat,

On opposite ends of the pressroom sat,

With the dog at the lecturn, and the cat in the back,

Each on their haunches, prepared for attack.

It was nearly nine, (or so I heard)

And neither one had uttered a word—

The ghosts of James Brady, and ole Jody Powell,

Concurred in opinion, with mutual scowl,

That the morning's event would never end well,

With the dog and cat aiming, the best story to tell,

To finally determine, for once and for all,

Whose public pronouncements, gave greater appall.

(Forgive me if I sound too bitter, I am merely repeating

What I read on Twitter!)


The shamrock-print dog began to howl,

The kelly-co cat cried —foul!—foul!—foul!

And in one leap, was on the stage—

The shamrock- print dog, consumed with rage,

Chased the kelly-co cat around the room,

While all the while, their words of doom,

Their alternative facts, and fake news spewed,

With odor, like poisonous coffee brewed,

Its acrid scent, wafted throughout the air,

And left all reporters, slumped in their chairs.

(Excuse me if I sound deranged, even Jody’s hair

was rearranged!)


Mr. Brady was beside himself—

“Why was there no taser, why was there no shelf

To surreptitiously remove from a wall,

To end this great misery, for once and for all?”

But the shamrock-print dog, and the kelly-co cat,

Intent on more havoc, went this way and that—

Strands of bleached blonde ano-hair,

Were mixed with the fur of a soviet bear—

An amulet worn by the shamrock-print dog,

Given in secret, under cover of fog,

(Don’t quote me on this, I only repeat

What was told to me by anonymous Tweet!)


By the end of an hour, the room was in tatters,

The lecturn upended, and glass goblets shattered;

The White House picture was on the floor,

The flag barely standing, nothing left of the door,

The room almost empty, the reporters long gone,

Except for one pro, whose work was not done—

It was Mara Liaison, from NPR, 

Who gathered the remnants, from near and from far,

Of the dog and the cat, who could not agree,

On who was the best maker of fake history.

“We all tried to warn you…” our dear Mara said,

As she swept them up, from toe to head.

(Pease don’t fancy, that I am waxing shady,

I heard that part  from Powell and Brady!)

rlongfield was born in Chamblee, Georgia, but was raised in the small town of Midway City, CA. She has lived in the Inland Empire for several years. This is where she and her husband John raised their two beautiful, amazing daughters. She cannot remember not being a writer or wanting to be a writer. She loves making people laugh, but is now often sad that current events provide her with so many opportunities to skewer the present powers that be. Or want to be. She is very grateful for the understanding of her husband John, and her daughters, and the support of her friends and family.