The Condoleezza Tales

Condoleezza Tales

What better way to welcome April than with a satirical poem that takes place in that lovely and tempestuous month? I wrote it in 2004, and the anti-war site LewRockwell.com published it. It’s a takeoff of The Canterbury Tales that targets the Iraq War and the Neocons who lied us into it. I’ve dusted it off, revised it a bit, and added links to names and places that may not be as well known as they were eleven years ago. Enjoy!

When that April, with its fickle weather,
Reflects spring madness altogether,
And pounds the District with such fury
The politicians curse and scurry.
When newsmen chase them seeking answers
About leaks from CIA necromancers,
The press secretary concocts such theories
That the head does spin, and the eyes grow bleary.
And young bloggers compose Internet discourses
They research all night with help from secret sources.

So crazy does become the Capital City,
Then congressmen gather in committee.
And pundits skewer the president’s invasion
Of foreign lands that had not harmed this nation.
And specially from every TV station
Of the USA to Condoleezza they hasten,
The National Security Adviser for to grill
That she had lied up on Capital Hill.

It so happened in that season on a day,
In the fevered District at Bullfeathers I lay,
Tossing down another gin and tonic
Before attending more testimony moronic.
But then there stormed into that famed saloon
A noisy, cursing Neocon platoon.
So heated they were from congressional hearings
They paid me no mind as they started sneering.

A General stood proud with glistening medals
Awarded for battles he’d helped to settle.
Sad Vietnam did his war doctrine form;
He’d chaired the Joint Chiefs during Desert Storm.
And lately he had well served his nation
With a deft Power Point presentation.
Though the UN rejected his grave proposal,
He was well regarded in the Office Oval.

There was a Wolfowitz at the door,
And at a Rumsfeld his eyes did bore.
“We’ve no time for Congressional hysteria.
Our troops should be marching tonight on Syria.”
The Rumsfeld shrugged. “Yes, it’s all overblown.
Congressional scrutiny’s a known unknown.
But should a new crisis come, thanks to Bin Laden
Congressional hearings will soon be forgotten.”

A Cheney popped in from an undisclosed location
And nearly smiled at his standing ovation.
He checked his own pulse with each shot of liquor.
Though the others would laugh, his scowl did not flicker.
He spoke with a manner that showed he was certain
Of the contracts he’d win for his beloved Halliburton.

At his side stood his student, a prideful young Flyer,
Once a 12-stepper and lusty party goer.
He’d fought the Cong in the war in ‘Nam
From a strategic position in Alabam.
He wore a smart flight suit that shined like the sun,
And swaggered and grinned when he said, “Bring ’em on.”
His teacher, the Cheney, had to act deferential
Toward his eager young student despite low potential.

When into the bar there strode an old Clarke,
With the mind of a scholar and the bite of a shark.
He’d served well his country for one score and ten,
And he roared at the pack like Daniel in the den,
“You are liars and slackers in your sham war on terror.”
And the cowards all shivered, ashamed at their error.
Drinks spilled and men shrieked, and started a-runnin’.
But I knew they’d continue their neo-connin’.

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