Mr. Mucus

“I’d really like to see them suffer. I would like Trump and Hegseth to make it last a long time so they lose a limb and bleed out.” Megyn Kelly, re bombing Venezuelan boats in the Caribbean.

Watching cable news tonight – a snuff-shot 
of us bombing a suspicious fishing boat
-- speeding over the ocean, gone in a flash --
we segue to the ads.

A snot green fellow fills the screen;
short and squat, all head and belly.
Close-set eyes, mischiviously squinting;
a wide mouth of little squarish teeth.
Mr. Mucus.

In this episode Mr. Mucus
grinning with diabolical intent,
approaches in a lewd triumphal manner
a fetching housewife in her tidy kitchen.
Unfazed, unhesitatingly she aims
a simple spray-can: Aerosol Mucinex.
You betcha.

His hands fly up on twig-like arms
clasping his green temples in dismay.
He begs her in a strangled pleading snarl
Please. Don’t.
He  shrieks. She shoots him dead.

Mucus’s death-throes steal the show.
He howls in agony, he flees, arms waving,
something like electroshock 
sets him trembling all over.
This goes on for some time. We like him dead
but more than that we like to see him suffer.
Finally, an avalanche of huge 
capital letters.
	                                                                               IT'S
                                                                              COMEBACK 
	                                                                          SEASON
crashes down on him, and sayonara
poor, presumptively not guilty Mr. Mucus.