The Condoleezza Tales

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(With
profound apologies to ol’ Jeff Chaucer)

When
that April, with its fickle weather,
Reflects March 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 came 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 was there with glistening medals,
Awarded for the wars 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 did reject his grave proposal,
He was well regarded in the Office Oval.

There
was a Wolfowitz at the door,
And at the Rumsfeld his eyes did bore.
"We've no time for this 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.

With
him was his student, a prideful young Flyer,
Once a 12-stepper and lusty party goer.
He'd helped fight the Cong in Vietnam
From a forward position in Alabam.
He wore a smart flight suit that shined like the sun
He swaggered and grinned when he said, "Bring 'em on."
His teacher, the Cheney, would act deferential
To his eager young student despite low potential.

When
into the bar there arrived an old Clarke,
With the mind of a scholar and the bite of a shark.
He'd worked for his country for one score and ten,
And he walked among Neocons 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'.
And I thought, but will they cease their neo-connin'?

March
26, 2004

Michael
C. Tuggle [send him mail]
is a project manager and software trainer in Charlotte, NC.
His first book, Confederates
in the Boardroom
, explores the implications of organizational
science on political systems, and is published by Traveller Press.


     

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