The Rage of George
Rattling of Sabres
The Gods of War
In the Clouds
The Tyrant Flees
Out of Order
Doing the Patriot Act
The Little Prince
Ichor of the Gods
The Price of Peace
Dead or Alive
Across the Border
Summer in the City
Wolf and Jackal
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Below the weary world walked by man and beast,
Covered by a thousand feet of rock and concrete,
Fueled and lit by the energy of the atom,
Air scrubbed and washed by banks of filters,
Another world, clean, and safe from all danger,
Shelters its occupant in a plush and comfortable home.
Like the resting place of Pharaohs,
Built deep within the heart of massive pyramids,
Surrounded by stone, with provisions for the future,
Impenetrable, hidden, all construction plans destroyed
(Along with those who designed and built them),
It’s an underworld made by Halliburton to protect one man.
Dick Cheney, hard of heart, sits at his desk
Staring at a bank of television monitors,
Some hawk dishwasher detergent and hamburgers
Others display the faces of the ruling circle: Sly
Ashcroft, Proud Powell, Foul Rumsfeld, Condoleezza,
And Simple George, patron saint of Pax Americana.
Hard-hearted Cheney, bitter, scared and insecure,
Due some say to his Pisces Moon
Opposing Neptune in Virgo, smiles in
A half-grin, the left side of his face lifting while
The right side sits immobile, dragged along
Like some reluctant dog pulled unwilling by a leash.
One monitor shows no face at all, no ads
For SUVs nor Big Man Pizza Specials. It just
Displays a line; that line records a heartbeat,
For the moment, regular at 48 beats per minute.
The low rate is due to high-dosage beta-blocker
And the lingering effects of 50 milligrams of Cozaar.
The rate goes up, the half smile fades.
Cheney chuckles at a comment made by Ashcroft,
A joke made at the expense of Condoleezza,
Some rumored tryst with Rumsfeld,
How their union might produce a child
With the Powell-like color of café au lait.
“A Whitey in the woodpile?” Ashcroft cracks,
And Cheney’s heart throws a premature contraction.
A monitor beeps and prints a paper strip,
Testimony to lingering stirrings in his hard heart,
So long deprived of love and warmth and comfort,
Now resigned to pharmaceuticals.
another screen, Simple George is talking
But Hard Cheney does not listen, merely
Picking out a few words here and there
Like "nukular," and "mass destruction" and "terrorist,"
Cringing at the poor syntax and mindless repetition
Drummed into the head of poor Simple George.
Distracted, Cheney thinks about
The legend of Saint George.
Patron saint of England and armed forces,
Dressed in red-crossed garments, sword held on high,
Then thrust into the head of the Islamic Dragon
In selfless defense of Western culture.
He considers the two Georges, how history has merged,
Brought them together now, at the right time.
The new crusades! A resumption of the battle,
This time under Stars and Stripes of red, white, blue,
With swords from heaven, dropped by eagles’ talons,
Striking down the Moslem hoards once and for all.
“Know the legend of St. George?” he asks Don.
“Destroyer of idols and false gods, he was a martyr,
His body flayed, burned, crushed, amputated, and made headless,
Yet he returned to address the troops generations later
For which, in 1348, the Order of the Garter was established.”
The mention of garter lifts his heart rate to 56.
Hard Cheney, who switches easily from
Chief warmonger to chief executive officer, is
Eager for the thrill of battle, the command of men,
And as his body double sits up top in the Senate,
Millions are unaware that unseen down below
Cheney orchestrates dark destiny of Biblical proportions.
He led Desert Storm and kicked Noriega’s ass,
Now he fantasizes about the largest army in the world
Engaged in a newer, bolder crusade against the east.
Undaunted by the treachery of so-called allies, he knows
This new mission will be the beginning or
The end; it’s in the Bible.
“Saddam’s deploying his newest missile,”
Hard Cheney starts a joke for Simple George.
“Yeah...” says George, waiting for the punch line.
“Yep,” says Cheney, “we’ve destroyed his Al Samood
Now he has no choice but to deploy his biggest;
Tomorrow Al Phallus rises above the desert!”
The monitor displays the smirk on George’s face,
Sly Ashcroft blushes, embarrassed by the joke.
Foul Rumsfeld winks, points his finger to the left
Unseen by Condoleezza whose face appears that direction,
And wanly offers a condescending gap-toothed smile.
Cheney throws a burst of tachycardia.
The heart monitor spits out a paper trail.
Nurse makes her way to Hard Cheney’s chair,
And wiping spittle from his chin she turns up his IV,
“Its time to say goodbye to all your friends and take a nap,”
She says. Low-fat cookies and soy milk are by his pillow,
If he behaves, she’ll sing to him as he goes to sleep.