"Corona Tornado Caballeros," "Kill! Kill! QAnon!," and "The Grand Wizard"

Corona Tornado Caballeros

It was an airborne virus meaner than a two-headed rattlesnake,
one wrong breath and you'd be gone,
it rolled across the countryside like a freight train
stopping for no one no way no how.
Until four fine-dressed gentlemen on horses
appeared from out of the dust,
lassos hanging from their silver-studded saddles,
on a mission to save the world.
These were no Pecos Bill wannabes,
each had degrees in virology and meteorology,
it was twister season and they had a plan
to lasso that motherfucking virus and send it packing.
They stood tall in their saddles waiting for the tornadoes to come,
then they rode like the wind in counter-clockwise fashion,
they corralled several dozen funnel clouds across a hundred-mile stretch
and created one gigantic twister the likes no one had ever seen.
The vortex it created swept up every airborne pathogen,
along with a couple dozen family-run farms,
three thousand head of cattle, a hundred thousand pigs,
an untold number of chickens and a filling station.
And when the time was right those four horsemen cinched their lassos tight
around the belly of that monster spinning devil wind,
and out popped the farms, cattle, pigs and chickens
like a pregnant behemoth giving birth to the world.
Then all was still, the twister gone, the virus done gone with it,
and the caballeros disappeared as quietly as they came,
the people rejoiced, sang hymns and shouted Hallelujahs,
unfortunately, the filling station was never seen again.



Kill! Kill! QAnon!

Watch out you child fuckers here we come,
to bring judgment upon your sorry asses
and bring our children home!
That's not a gay threat, though I bet
some of you wouldn't mind
that kind of punishment.
Well, we're gonna fix America at last,
set it straight and set it right
on a righteous path,
put all your sorry asses in our secret prison
before you and your cannibalistic Cabal
can eat another infant.
It's just that simple, as QAnon proclaims,
our fearless faceless leader
who guides us through the flames—
the flames of evil rising from the devil's soulless chest.
Kill! Kill! We will until
not a single liberal-leaning pervert's left.
Like Moses, QAnon has been to the mount,
he's got the dirt and will share it
for us to ferret each pervert out.
And at last we have a president who hears us,
a chosen one who goes in front
of cameras and cheers us.
QAnon was sent by God for our protection,
for all we know he's Jesus
with an internet connection.
His followers are growing, even in high places,
so if you're one of those kiddie diddlers
you best be prepared to meet your maker!
So buckle up almighty defenders of the faith,
QAnon is here and he ain't queer,
he's here to light up these dark days.
So grab your guns, let's have some fun instead.
Kill! Kill! We will until
not a single liberal-leaning pervert's left—not a one!
Kill! Kill! Jawohl! Sieg heil!
until all the liberal swine are piled high beneath the sun.



The Grand Wizard

Such a Grand Wizard is he.
He wears a red cap like a crown
with the word GREAT on it;
his hair golden beneath,
like waves of grain,
frozen in a stylish sweep.
His face is ruddy,
his eyes—how they dance,
his mouth a constant marvel,
speaking words known only
to wizards and their wizardly friends.
Such a Grand Wizard, this man.
He exceeds every self-declaration,
succeeds where every wizard has tried,
even those once called Grand.
It doesn't matter if his truths are lies,
he believes them.
He's a wizard.
He summons great things
from thin air.
Misdeeds? No one sees them.
Malfeasance? No one cares.
Such a Grand Wizard, 'tis rare.
Once in a lifetime, they say,
perhaps in all of history, says he.
Spoken like a true Grand Wizard.
There have been but a few
who so openly dare
do the things this Grand Wizard
does every day of the week.
It's hard to imagine this land
before this grand pomp
and circumstance came to be.
Such a Grand Wizard, 'tis grand
for all who hope to be freed.
Free to caper and prance
and improperly dance upon
those who simply disagree.
Free to fan the flames
by calling out names,
and extolling their long-held beliefs.
It's a Grand Wizard party
and all are invited,
all he asks is complete loyalty.
Such a Grand Wizard is he.
But even this wizard's tricks
will get old.
His red hat will fade,
his ruddy face will wizen,
his golden hair will turn gray.
His faithful followers will recede,
locked away in their
self-righteous prisons,
until the next Grand Wizard has risen
and once again hands them the key.



Kurt Newton

Kurt Newton's poetry has appeared in Cajun Mutt Press, Hobo Camp Review, Heroin Love Songs, and in the anthologies More Alternative Truths and Alternative Truths: Endgame. His tenth collection of poetry, a chapbook called A Troubled Sleep, was just picked up by back room poetry.


Edited for Unlikely by Jonathan Penton, Editor-in-Chief
Last revised on Sunday, September 27, 2020 - 22:49