Mr. Presidents…
Mr. Presidents in Washington and
Moscow, presiding on a mystery:
What’s made them myopic to history?
Have they seen some virtue in what they’ve planned,
Ignoring examples of Stalingrad,
Of bombing Hanoi back to the stone age?
The blitzing of London provoked cold rage,
But no surrender, no matter how bad.
Missiles and drones don’t defeat, they incense.
Kiev and Tehran shaken, yet do not fall,
While the shattered dead lie beneath it all,
Civvy Street victims of absence of sense.
Mr. Presidents, brother to brother,
Look in the mirror and see the other.
D.A.