Untitled (with apologies to Robert Frost)

Whose words these are I think I know;

He quit the House two years ago

When first he threw us all a curve

And then, found out, was brought down low.

This little man must have some nerve

To claim that he is fit to serve

When all his promises were lies.

More sleaze ensued, with added verve.

Much worse goes on, I realize,

But New York mayor? Quite a prize

For this purveyor of b.s.

And one whose deeds were so unwise.

The words he’s offered to the press

Are not enough to fix this mess,

For he has demons to address,

And he has demons to address.

The author, a former copy editor for Architectural Digest, lives in Sherman Oaks.

Read more: Opinion poetry by Times readers