A Boobie Murphy's Flaw
(from Fernando Po, U.S.A., America's post-literate retreat to Plato's Cave)

He had the choice to not do this
But did it anyway
He had the choice to do it right
But chose to go astray
He had his chance to leave but then
Decided he would stay

He had the chance to choose someone
To manage his affairs
But got involved himself and chose
To split Iraqi hairs
He swore to save our country but
He wound up wrecking theirs

Their army and their government
He told to take a hike
He spoke of what he wanted but
Got what he didn't like
Each increase in the violence,
He called a little "spike"

He steered straight for the iceberg while
He swore he'd stay the course
Like Reagan playing cowboy, he
Sat backwards on his horse
Then found he had to float some loans
For Chinese to endorse

He said he would decide upon
Decisions he would make
He pledged real fiscal honesty
But wound up on the take
Ersatz in his sincerity,
He only looked more fake

He lied each passing minute till
The seconds' hand got tired
He praised unto the Heavens those
Embarrassments he fired
(Some makers of soup sandwiches
For kitchen help he'd hired)

He claimed he needed no one's help,
Then found he had to beg
He tried to act the tough-guy part
But really broke a leg
With chopsticks then he tried to pick
The bone out of the egg

He called himself "decider" which
In his mind made him strong
Once he decided, other folks --
He thought -- would go along
With no choice left but one, he'd still
Decide to do it wrong

He did so many damned things wrong
Since damned things he could do
He promised to do little good
But much for some damned few:
A lowered expectation since
About the age of two

He spoke of "crisp" decisions like
A salad knife or fork
Or how to differentiate
Some hamburger from pork
"Way-cool" decision making of
The kind made by a dork

He chose to take a chance on choice
And gambled with the dice
He labored like a mountain and
Brought forth some tiny mice
Then doubled-down the dead so he
Could lose not once but twice

He asked for no advice but still
He got some nonetheless
His "gut," he said, had told him he
Should still prefer to guess
And so he chose to flip a coin --
And made a bloody mess

His "higher father" told him stuff
That no one else could hear
His earthly father heard of this
And shed a bitter tear
That Big-Spook/Joseph cuckold thing
Made other things quite clear

He recognized no limit to
The credit card accounts
He thought that blood and money came
In infinite amounts
So given any chance for war,
Upon it he would pounce

While citizens had nightmares when
He tried and failed to spell
He wanted to assuage our fears
That he did not sleep well
(The belfry in his head had bats
But not a single bell)

He journeyed to the future and
Came back with his report
He told us that when we were dead,
We'd get his last retort
Implying we should wait till then
And not his rule abort

He tried to go too fast, which meant
He managed to stand still
He swore that he would liberate
Which really meant he'd kill
A Boobie Murphy's Flaw, he can
Go wrong -- and so he will

The people only can decide,
And this he truly dreads
For he has heard of Romanovs
And rolling czarist heads
The just deserts for those who chose
To tear whole lands to shreds

Michael Murry, "The Misfortune Teller," Copyright © 2006