Anti-war Poem for Cheney
A number of hawks in the Bush administration have never served in the military. Except for the sixth and seventh lines, the following poem by British poet Siegfried Sassoon makes me think of Vice President Dick Cheney:
Base Details
If I were fierce, and bald, and short of breath,
I'd live with scarlet majors at the base,
And speed glum heroes up the line to death.
You'd see me with my puffy petulant face,
Guzzling and gulping in the best hotel,
Reading the Roll of Honor. "Poor young chap,"
I'd say—"I used to know his father well:
Yes, we've lost heavily in the last scrap."
And when the war is done and youth stone dead,
I'd toddle safely home and die—in bed.
—Siegfried Sassoon (1918)
Base Details
If I were fierce, and bald, and short of breath,
I'd live with scarlet majors at the base,
And speed glum heroes up the line to death.
You'd see me with my puffy petulant face,
Guzzling and gulping in the best hotel,
Reading the Roll of Honor. "Poor young chap,"
I'd say—"I used to know his father well:
Yes, we've lost heavily in the last scrap."
And when the war is done and youth stone dead,
I'd toddle safely home and die—in bed.
—Siegfried Sassoon (1918)
Labels: Friday Night Poetry
posted by Poechewe at 9:49 PM
1 Comments:
MUGS EVERY ONE
It was a great hilarity,
The buckshot in the face--
Why must it seem a rarity
Among the human race
That good men, seen with clarity,
Get other than disgrace,
While (this the great disparity)
Mere mugs control the place.
Was ever there a bigger creep
So nasty, false or zany?
Imagination cannot leap
So far--even Hussein, he
Had virtuous points, if none too deep,
Yet none belong to Chaney
(Spelt like the monster, not the veep),
Mask´s permanent detainee.
When all is falsity, up to
Even the highest reaches
Of government--what can one do?
Dishonesty so screeches,
Yet with a populace as who
Admires but ne´er impeaches
Except for trivial matters, you
Know, no one wears the breeches.
That´s why a little levity--
Some moron getting shot
(Alas the crew´s longevity)
Lets blight seem less a blot;
Yet curse this lack of brevity
Which makes the human plot,
But as elected deviltry
Deserved is the lot.
IMSMALL
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