Old Pompeo Had Some Spies, C.I., C.I., A! - poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

Mike Pompeo Had Some Spies

Mike Pompeo had some spies
     C.I., C.I., A!
Among these spies he had some sneaks
     C.I., C.I., A!
With a wiretap here
And a wiretap there
Here a tap, there a tap
Everywhere a wiretap
Mike Pompeo had some spies
     C.I., C.I., A!

Mike Pompeo had some spies
     C.I., C.I., A!
Among these spies some Russians lurked
     C.I., C.I., A!
With a lurk-lurk here
And a lurk-lurk there
Here a lurk, there a lurk
Everywhere a lurk-lurk
Mike Pompeo had some spies
     C.I., C.I., A!

Mike Pompeo had some spies
     C.I., C.I., A!
And to these spies came Wiki-Leaks
     C.I., C.I., A!
With a leak-leak here
And a leak-leak there
Here a leak, there a leak
Everywhere a leak-leak
Mike Pompeo had some spies
     C.I., C.I., A!

Mike Pompeo had some spies
     C.I., C.I., A!
And then there was the President
     C.I., C.I., A!
With a tweet-tweet here
And a tweet-tweet there
Here a tweet, there a tweet
Every day a tweet-tweet
Mike Pompeo had some spies
     C.I., C.I., A!

Mike Pompeo had some headaches
     C.I., C.I., A!
Among these headaches was Congress
     C.I., C.I., A!
With questions here
And doubtings there
Here a quiz, there a doubt
Everybody run about
Mike Pompeo had some headaches
     C.I.,
              C.I.,
                        Aaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

The Smart Phone That Came in From the Cold - poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

The Smart Phone That Came in From the Cold

Along the bridge that was a wall a phone
Whispered endearments to a thermostat
Hoping to turn it as a double agent
Which would betray the satellite TV

Beyond the talking doll that talks too much
The new refrigerator’s ice machine
Betrayed its memory chip to a light bulb
Which killed an activity tracker gone rogue

Your teapot is a data dump – it’s true!
And your fountain pen is ratting on you

A John LeCarre' Novel - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

A John LeCarre’ Novel

The brick walls of the houses along the street
Are always centuries-damp in the dim streetlights
Flickering yellow past the garbage cans
And is that sound - water dripping? Footsteps?

She was to meet him in the shadows of
A shuttered plywood newspaper kiosk
That tiny red spark over there – it moves
But she doesn’t smoke. And she’s very cautious

A scream. A shot. A cat. A light. A voice,

A very soft voice:

“Mustn’t be found here, old boy. Need a lift?”