A Dreadful Success
(with thanks to Michael Parenti for the accurate terminology)

In two-thousand-nine, he got rolled right away
Another new President easy to sway.
Without thinking much or too long or too deep
He fell for the generals’ choice: mission-creep.

He had many “options” from which he could choose
Which all added up to just one: Do not “lose,”
Which they’d say he did if he wisely withdrew
So he caved in with only one turn of the screw.

Except that the screwing, once started, goes on
From morning till sundown; from dusk until dawn,
For days, weeks, and months stretching into long years
Then two terms speed past bathed in blood, sweat, and tears.

And now a successor Commander-in-Brief
(A waste of good skin and an oxygen thief)
Gets his turn to fold at the start of the game
Letting “experts at war” sell him more of the same,

Who haven’t a clue after seventeen years
Except that the budget once more disappears,
With none to account for where everything went
While the world stands outside pissing into the tent.

It ought to have dawned on someone before now
That thieves know their business: the when, where, and how
Of letting the brass have a taste of the cake
Then calling their lost wars a “tragic mistake.”

But profits piled up for a fabulous few
While everyone else gets to dine on shit stew
Looks nothing at all, to the rich, like a mess
But, rather, a well-thought-out, class-war success.

Michael Murry, "The Misfortune Teller," Copyright © 2019