The week’s reviewed within this poem, Distilled and poured from news I comb From yesterday, four stories versed For you to read at work or home. We’ll kick it off with one depraved, On a driveway asphalt paved, Mom and dad fresh off a spat Apparently dad’s brain then caved. In his car the children load While mom went back before they rode, To get her purse or keys or coins, Looked out to see the dad explode. Through the window of the car Threw the baby, not too far, To the grass beside the door Knife and blood on baby are. The blade within poor Devlin’s back, His brother ran from the attack. Mom rushed Devlin to a friend While the car, the dad did jack. Devlin’s daddy’s on the run, They patched up Daddy’s second son. Mom is under constant guard Thank God ol’ daddy had no gun. Back at home in Michigan, Where I was once a favorite son, A turkey will be honored soon Where Methodists conduct their fun. It would seem a turkey came, Attending service in God’s name, Every Sunday at the door Greeting comers; grew quite tame. Two years he tended to this chore, Standing sentry at the door, But met his end this week just passed When down upon him cars did bore. So come this Sunday service held, In honor of this turkey felled, In Wales Township, prayer and song Will fill the church where turkey dwelled. Along the turnpike of our state, A Russian man would meet his fate; To a rest stop with his friend, The Russian man outside would wait. Nearly eighty, out he went, Where Brian White was trouble bent. At twenty-six, from out of state, Mr. White attacked the gent. Beat him ‘til he’d breathe no more, While folks were screamin’ from the door. Then in his car, he sped away, Pedal pushed down to the floor. Ninety miles of givin’ chase, They caught the Texan, won the race. Booked and charged with murder one, To Humble, Texas brought disgrace. In a brothel in Cologne, Where services are sold and sewn, They’re offering a discount rate For seniors who are all alone. Like a diner’s own Blue Plate, For senior’s who will come in late, Between the hours of 12 and 5 A discount price of half the rate. For feeble folks with aging eyes, Membership in AARP will rise. They got the money, got the time; They only hope that no one dies. And that’s the news that’s print to fit, Upon this page, to you submit; Stories from the Ides of March, Nuanced in verse, abridged a bit.