Chapter 1- The Rage of George
Chapter 2- Rattling of Sabres
Chapter 3- Entreaties Rejected
Chapter 4- Osama Speaks
Chapter 5- The Underworld
Chapter 6- Fatherly Advice
Chapter 7- The Gods of War
Chapter 8- Juggernaut
Chapter 9- The Prisoners
Chapter 10- Interrogation
Chapter 11- George Dreams
Chapter 12- In the Clouds
Chapter 13- Déjeuner
Chapter 14- Secret Agent
Chapter 15- The Tyrant Flees
Chapter 16- Out of Order
Chapter 17- George Descends
Chapter 18- Master Kim
Chapter 19- Uncurious George
Chapter 20- Asana
Chapter 21- Doing the Patriot Act
Chapter 22- Immaculate Reception
Chapter 23- The Little Prince
Chapter 24- Mission Accomplished
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The weekly call from Poppy comes right on time,
As the setting sun’s last rays begin to fade
Golden hues give way to pinks and deep blues.
Night’s sheer curtains draw closed upon the world,
Colors fade to grays and blacks in dimming light
As Resolute George picks up the ringing phone.
“43, this is 41” says old King George, “How are you?”
“Right fine,” says George, “been waiting for your call.”
Simple George emerges, grasps a rubber ball
And begins to compress it, building up his grip.
Forearms work with the effort, tendons taut,
Hands squeeze with memories of curve balls thrown.
“This Saddam thing’s heating up,” the old man says.
“Yep,” says George, “Things are in control, don’t worry.”
“Not worried, ‘you da’ man’” says Poppy, “Just
A bit confused about the plan, want to understand.”
George stops squeezing, feels his face flush,
Warmth moves up his collar, back of his neck goes red.
“There’s not a lot to understand,” says George.
“Saddam is evil and we’re gonna take him out.”
“Evil’s bad,” say Poppy, “Can’t put up with evil.
Might be a good idea to wait a bit, build more support,
More countries on our side, go in more united.”
George drops the ball, it’s grabbed by Spot the dog.
“You don’t like what I’m doing?” George asks curtly.
“Didn’t say that,” says Poppy. Resolute George cuts him off,
“Same conversation, same complaints, same accusations,
Like a broken record for 40 years. Never good enough,
Not smart enough, too impulsive, too rash. Well I’m President,
And for once you need to just shut up!”
George sweats, dark round stains in his shirt,
He wipes his wet upper lip on the back of his hand.
Like a major league pitcher with a long 3-2 count,
Batter crowding the plate, crouching low, defensive,
One ball after another knocked hard foul into the stands,
George feels the tension mount, his frustration builds.
“You had your chance,” he vents, “You blew it!”
“It’s up to me to clean your mess and do the job right.”
Sweat drips from his nose to the blotter on the Lincoln desk,
Joins other spots and stains. Pizza grease, coffee drops
All offer silent testimony to the strain of command
That accompanies attempts at absolute control.
“Slow down son!” the old man says, “Don’t fly
off the handle.
The Bushiad and The Idyossey - Copyright 2004 by Victor Littlebear - All rights reserved