a poem

For some reason - perhaps it's the holidays - some are now waxing poetic with "inspiring," sentimental verse lionizing the poor servicemen stuck in Iraq, as if that somehow changes the fact that they shouldn't be there at all.

Well, I can write poetry, too, after a fashion . I'm no Wordsworth, but then neither are the composers of the sappy patriotic, reality-obscuring doggeral that inspired the following somewhat less-polished opus, styled "Bush and Cheney's Salute to the American Serviceman":

you had naive visions of keeping us free
I had "other priorities": in a word, ME

while you were down huddled in some muddy ditch
I was out partying and striking it rich

you joined the service for love of the nation
but I've made you part of the new "Vietnamization"

I get to be "war president," "decider," and boss
while you get the terror, the sorrow and loss

"support our troops" say I, "don't cower and whine;
I support you to the death: yours, not mine"

don't ask what you die for, don't ever ask why
then I won't be forced to compose a new lie

let no one rescue you, don't hang up your gun
a brave guy like me would not cut and run

so, let's all deride Kerry's humorous attempt
for his words, your lives, I have equal contempt

for when you decided who should lead you in war
you rejected the hero, chose the self-serving whore