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

The Boobies had no government
They needed no such waste
Yet still one lurked among them who
Found power to his taste
And needed only find a way
To grab at it in haste

This Boobie rose to speak his mind
With neither wit nor grace
"Say what?" the other Boobies cried
"We cannot see your face!"
"Come closer to the fire," they said
"Or go back to your place."

Thus chastened, Boobie George came back
And thought he'd try once more
This time he smiled and showed his teeth
And danced around the floor
And waved his arms and pointed to
A non-existent door

The Boobies got the meaning then
Subliminally clear
They could not trust experience:
What they could see and hear
But must instead shrink from the dark
In ignorance and fear

Thus Boobie George convinced them of
A threat they couldn't see
And scared the Boobies shitless with
A lie, or two, or three
Invoking ghosts and goblins grim
Unknown to you and me

He did it all without a word
That anyone would know
He used no earthly language but
He put on quite a show
The Boobies only saw a door
Through which they couldn't go

As Boobie George performed his scam
To entertain the crowd
His smirks and sneers and swagger showed
That he could not be cowed
By any force on Earth except
The "GAWD" to which he bowed

And having made this "GAWD" himself
George found it truly swell
That he could squawk in "GAWD'S OWN WORDS"
Suggesting Fire and Hell
Upon which specters no one wise
Would think it safe to dwell

But Boobie George required some help
He could not do it all
And so while dancing madly he
Began to search the hall
For signs of older Boobies who
Had brains a bit less small

He found one sitting by himself
All taciturn and gruff
A-chewin' on tobacco and
A-snortin' at his snuff
"This guy looks really cool," thought George
"I'll bet he knows his stuff."

Dick Cheney was this Boobie's name
He came from way out West;
Or way down South, or somewhere else,
Whichever paid the best.
"I'll do your job for you," he said
"Now you just get some rest."

"'The Sheriff and the Deputy,'
We'll call ourselves," he spat.
"'Cause I have many cattle and
You're nothing but a hat."
"You bet!" the younger Boobie cried
"I'll gladly go for that."

And Sheriff Boobie Cheney said,
"Let's face a little fact:
You've no experience much less
Intelligence or tact.
I'll run the ranch and you just do
That studly hamster act."

"Sure thing!" the younger Boobie said,
"That sounds just fine by me.
I never studied, anyway,
At university.
You do that leader thang and I'll
Just play one on TV."

And so as not to disappoint
The Boobies gathered `round
George hit on a solution he
Considered truly sound
Instead of reaching for the stars
He'd aim for underground!

He set the high-jump bar so low
(To use a metaphor)
That snakes could slither over it
And flightless chickens soar
Above the low-tide mark he left
Upon the barnyard floor

He pointed to his buttocks then
And grasped a melon rind
With which he wiped his ass to show
Just what he had in mind:
A promise that he would not leave
One Boobie child behind

And Boobie Rumsfeld joined the team
To keep the realm from harm
He'd done this sort of thing before
While working on a farm
(With foxes in the henhouse he
Had sounded no alarm)

But when it came to rounding up
The one's who'd done no wrong
This Boobie Rumsfeld showed himself
Exceptionally strong."
Just throw someone in jail," he said
"They'll talk before too long."

But later when reports came in
Of "torture" in the Slam,
He acted nonchalant and rapped:
"Things are just what they am."
"The words don't do it," Rumsfeld said
"I need a diagram!"

And loopy Rumsfeld briefings filled
With sycophantic loons
Who, like him, longed for graphic scenes
Of knives, and whips, and goons
(Their brains, it seems, went blank without
The aid of some cartoons)

So words like "sadism" and "rape"
Passed far beneath their scopes
Till prison pictures made the rounds,
Enlightening the dopes,
And showed once more a land bereft
Of decent human hopes

"We'll fill the jails and pack the cells!"
The Boobie Rumsfeld cried.
"We'll round up those 'dead-enders' and
See that they're hung or fried;
Or else 'rendered' to Syria
Till they have 'talked' or died."

And none shall know the whereabouts
Of those whom George and crew
Have locked away in Gulags dark
Refusing to review
Their cases in a court of law
Like normal countries do

"They hate our freedom," George declared,
"So we should hate it, too.
Why make them take it from us when
A give-away would do?
Surrender saves the time we need
For bondage to accrue."

As Boobie princes throughout time
Have argued in their lust
"I cannot save your liberty
Unless I've got your trust.
So give me all your freedoms now
As I demand you must!"

"I'll give them back when time allows,
Unless of course I've learned,
Of other Boobie princes whose
Advances I have spurned,
And who now claim your servitude
As something they have earned."

"And so you see I can't return
Those things you had before.
Once taken, precious rights become
Much harder to restore.
You'd know all this except you find
Such history a bore."

"I'll make things now so clear and plain
That even fools like you
Can see the writing on the wall
And know that this is true:
I've played you all for suckers and
I will tomorrow, too."

So now the dead and wounded troops
Come home to runway strips
In dark of night so none can see
The blood that spurts and drips
A "metric" of the lies that pour
From George's smirking lips

To celebrate Democracy
Our battered legion roams
Installing it at gunpoint while
The scholars write their tomes
To prove that freedom spread abroad
Requires less in our homes

Now that we've seen the photographs
We know what it has meant
To have crass clods incarcerate
The poor and innocent
While dollars by the billions fled
And none knew where they went

The Boobies of the USA
Are just like this it seems
Their leader pantomimes a farce
And sells them only dreams
Then sends their children off to die
Where none can hear their screams

But still they like the way he “points”
They like the way he “walks”
Despite the fact that no one can
Decipher how he talks
And when he mimics "standing tall"
The stupid Boobie gawks

Michael Murry, "The Misfortune Teller," Copyright © 2005