The crazy man
had to hike up his desert robes
To sit atop the broom he flew upon.
And the tornado blew
our tanks in
and they crushed the man
A moment of utter silence.
And then,
They danced and they sang,
“Ding-dong, Saddam is dead,
The wicked dictator is dead.”
Old tribal leaders
We called them munchkins.
Squinted at us in wonder.
For a while
they thought.
We were the good witches
after all.
They filled up the tanks.
with oil straight out of the ground.
And we road out
down the yellow brick road.
Soon it was just us:
Bush in search of a brain
Cheney in search of a heart.
America in search of it’s soul.
The lollipop league
left exploding confections
and the man swung from a noose on a tree.
The Wizard, he told me
To click my heels together.
And I did and I did and I did.
and I am still here.
We are still here.
With out a brain,
a heart,
a soul.
