“Mission accomplished” the president says
smiling.
On the cover of the Times.
Words melting down like Macbeth’s scarlet hubris,
dripping onto the azure carpet.
Giving the eagle war scars.

Never mind the future.
The embargoed bays.
The Imams threatening divine retribution.
The orphan in Mosul. Tears turning dust to mud.

never mind them

for what are casualties in holy war?

The brass section trumpets “Hail to the Chief”.
The military cheer.
The President opens his arms.
The lead crusader.
A conquistador in a business suit.
“Join us”, he says, in a cause
Firm as any inquisition.

And as the guns are loaded.
Freedom triumphs.
Balloons fly high.
We wrap ourselves in an asbestos flag.

We don’t feel what comes next.
We don’t feel our lungs begin to die.
We don’t feel Baghdad begin to burn.

And the flags still ripple, in the breeze.
The warship puffs out its chest,
a paladin guarding the waves.
Guns manned by democracy itself.
The president smiles again.
“Because of us” he says, “the tyrant has fallen
Iraq is free”.