Hey Iran, you have exactly 300 days left to push a US president around. Enjoy it while you can. After that, there will be hell to pay.
He’s never thought
of himself as anything but a vessel for
the true sensibilities of the rich and poor
alike; he’s not
one to worry
about the particulars; let the news-
papers fret like little priests; in the pews
the real people:
they value simple common sense above
the effetely weak-kneed truth of things; they love
strength, hate evil.
So what if we began
the war, transgressed a border, armed both sides
against each other? The principle that guides
him: a man
must be a lion:
he wakes and knows exactly what he wants
for breakfast. “Consuela, two croissants!”
though, he’s almost sure. His car and driver
take him straight to the station. A survivor,
like an eagle
who’s come back,
no thanks, whatever you’ve heard, to regulation,
from a brush with what the dweebs would call extinction:
he learned it on the last
if unopposed, campaign: never concede
a point—that’s what it really means to lead:
no brake; all gas.
One thought on “Mourning Joe”
“he [Luke S] better have those moisturizers on the dune sea by midday or there’ll be HELL TO PAY,” or something like that, from Uncle Owen in the original Star Wars. scarborough’s space fantasy is for lots of iranians to fill some rooms in hell. fuck that guy.