Punk rock poet

I never thought that there'd be room for punk in poetry, but in retrospect the fit should have been obvious. 

I saw Calvin Trillin last night on teevee, and even with the crossed legs and tweed jacket, it's hard to disguise: the guy is a total badass. Check out this sample:

Cheney's Head: An Explanation

One mystery I've tried to disentangle:

Why Cheney's head is always at an angle.

He tries to come on straight, and yet I can't

Help notice that his head is at a slant.

When Cheney's questioned on the Sunday shows,

The Voice of Reason is his favorite pose.

He drones in monotones. He never smiles--

Explaining why some suspect don't need trials,

Or why right now is simply stands to reason

That criticizing Bush amounts to treason,

Or which important precept it would spoil

To know who wrote our policy on oil,

Or why as CEO he wouldn't know

What Halliburton's books were meant to show.

And as he speaks I've kept a careful check

On when his head's help crooked on his neck.

The code is broken, after years of trying:

He only cocks his head when he is lying.

-- From Obliviously On He Sails. I now have bus reading material.