Satirical edge
America goes to Ukraine A poem by Philip Kraske The State guys last year were sitting around, Each one displaying his best Foggy frown, Thinking of China, Brazil and Bahrain, Of terror, of trends, of tech, the Great Game. World-beaters all, these masters of U, Like them, they’ll tell you, there are but damn few. “We should take stock,” said Sam with gin neat. “Afghan democracy cycle’s complete, “Iraq’s come ‘round, the Kurds are well fair. “Turks are still Turks, zilch to do there. “Honduras, Paraguay – still a bit cross, “That someone came down and showed ‘em who’s boss.” “And then there’s Af-Pak,” said Joe through his rum, “Policed by drones that are ever-less dumb. “They ought to thank us, in spite of the noise, “For making them free, both girls and boys. “Now Syria has prospects and Libya release, “What else can we do in the cause of earth’s peace?” They sat and they thought and they drank and thought more. They threw out ideas, like rocks from the shore: “Can’t we kill Xe?” “Is Kim outta bounds?” “How ‘bout some cyber on Cantonese towns?” And then Ms. Nuland, she of Fuck the EU!, Said, “Let’s take Ukraine, and fuck the Bear too.” “Heck and shazam, Vick, World War Three!” “My point exactly: we’re in for a spree!
“The thing is to pounce while we still have time. “Russia’s pure Bedlam, a disorganized crime. “Their subs only sink, their army’s pure bunk, “I’ll say it out flat: this here’s a slam dunk!” “But Russia has nukes,” some flunky reported. “And we have nuker,” Ms. Nuland retorted. “Not that you blow the Kremlin per se, “Just neutron their gen’rals to vodka purée. “Then watch as good Russians dance in the streets, “And welcome our boys with kisses and treats.” “We install Mr. Karpov, put chicken in pots, “We divvy up Gazprom in tiny bit lots. “We hire out Putin as disco line-bouncer, “And little Medvedev pro-wrestling announcer. “No more old Russia all wrapped in enig, “Just Fox News and football, for kids the Mac Big.” “Now that’s a plan!” they shouted as one. “But where to start, Vick? How’s the game won?” “To Ukraine we send our boys with dog tag, “And after a year do a little false flag: “How’s that? You took down our jet from the base? “That’s too bad for you, champ. (This with straight face.)” And hence, the folks from Foggy did rally, And planned, and honed, and did the back-alley. And now it’s a first: our foot in Ukraine, War games for now, no, nothing to feign. But bases with hookers and flags will come, And grim Mother Russia, summing the sum. CT
Philip Kraske is from Minneapolis but has lived for the past 30 years in Madrid, Spain, where he teaches English on a freelance basis and does some translation. His four novels, of varied plots but centering on American politics and society, began to appear in 2009. March 2015 | ColdType 15