Carnival of Dunces
Settle down friends and I’ll tell you a tale
of how lust corrupts all folk without fail.
There once was a dunce, more moneyed than God,
who enjoyed too much a fine female bod.
Lascivious, avaricious, and vainglorious was he,
consumed by lusts numbers 1, 2, and 3.
Whenever his lordship saw a woman he wanted,
Lord Don poured it on, wealth and fame flaunted.
His vocab was limited, it didn’t include “No”,
but then to him, any blonde’s a bimbo.
One day playing golf he met a porn star
(yes, yes, of course he was cheating the par),
and contemptibly tempted this married man
proceeded to pounce with his typical plan:
he wined her, dined her, whined to subdue,
until finally Stormy let the cad through.
And so this orange prince, in his engorged bliss,
sought shelter in Stormy’s nether.
Would you believe it, the hairy ol’ beast
promised to provide her an eggplant feast,
but after all the words said with gusto and boom,
instead fed her only a small mushroom!
What led her to endure such distress?
Perhaps the lure of mainstream success:
going on TV, becoming an Apprentice
and like some savvy svelte praying mantis
chew through all her potential opponents,
listing each flaw and its components.
Alas her plans to be lauded and spoiled
dear Donny had decidedly foiled
with an NDA denying PDA
and any exchanges of their DNA.
But Stormy still had a story to tell,
saying these bastards can all go to hell!
Her attempts at court were, like her, a big bust;
now you see no good comes from three kinds of lust.
And as for our dear dapper Teflon Don,
I hear that this year he’ll have his name on
state ballots again: believe it or not,
some criminals still win even when caught.
M. Benjamin Thorne (He/Him) is an Associate Professor of Modern European History at Wingate University. Possessed of a lifelong love of history and poetry, he is interested in exploring the synergy between the two. His poems appear or are forthcoming in Rogue Agent, Feral, Gyroscope Review, Molecule, Red Eft Review, and Thimble Lit Mag. He lives and sometimes sleeps in Charlotte, NC.
The Marbled Sigh 