Blessed Are the War Mongers


"When you come to a fork in the road, take it." - Yogi Berra


Play Ball! That’s Poker! Simple slogans arranged
by Michelangelo Bach on the Sistine ceiling. He read History
and knew one day Yogi would appear to set truth right.
The Great Mike knew that Vegas and AC and the tribes
would sport new duds and bear blond boys on arm
and carry forth into the wilderness to steal forks
munitions, arms, enriched plutonium and cash.

The Great Poo Bah would set fire in the sky fashion
war; make a great fireworks show for CNN and FOX.
Everyone would clap take the kids home and another
fourth of July show would be over with the usual
sick kids dying from too much food and third degree
burns, -- everyone would say the Poo Bah well
he was doing a great job over there in old Iraq.

Leo, or St. L, or the Leonardo of Last Supper
wrote the pope and complained that he was
not paid for the implements of war he designed
for the papal armies, and he didn’t care if terrorist
captured the papal throne and kicked the bitch
out on the street. The Great Poo Bah paid
for the Pope printing money by the scroll.
He paid for the Arab potentates kids to study
thermodynamics and money laundry at Harvard.
We guided them with jet fighters for the Shah,
bought them off with Savings and Loans; we
became slave traders and opium pushers.
We told our great friends the little secrets kept
in books by mercantile land owners, specialty
chemical fabricators -- nuclear physics for hire
became the theme song of "Have Gun Will Travel."

Yogi questioned the fork in the road. He said
"Hey you Bush, bat for Clinton." Bush struck out
on three bad pitches, all high and tight.
The Prez argued. The umpire shot back:
“You ain’t the great Poo Bah no more.
You ain’t the great PT Barnum et al.”

Yogi shined the fork in the road
made a gift of it to the Poo Bah
and well, the rest you know;
the war is never over. It sings its
tragic opera. The Great Poo Bah
picked up the chant. “No curve balls
please,” he pointed to the friendly
spin makers, stretched single file
into an endless run that never
crossed one base: game over;
all the dead are free. The Poo Bah
dedicated the sacred fork to
the last soldier’s final scene.


3-14-06