Poker

When they were kids, 

they played games like War, 

1 card for 1 more, 

until they got bored.

So they changed the game’s name 

to something less explicit,

so it could be hidden from the masses,

just like a sympathetic fog

that surfaces over glasses, 

during a speech about a nationalist,

to hide the fact that he was

a soldier who valiantly died

for his craftsmanship–

as an Abu Ghraib mechanic. 

But don’t worry—

his reputation is protected 

by the flag over his casket,

but I’m getting ahead of myself,

so let me back up just a tad bit.

So these boys grew up, 

and up went the strategy, 

throwing around more chips

just to up the ante

Fancy cards, new table, 

old horse, different stable, 

and from what it appears,

they’re still talking the same bullshit, 

same game, different year.

And look here they are,

sitting around a poker table 

smoking Cuban cigars,

but in international waters, 

they’re all safe from the law.

Table’s sticky with whiskey,

U.S. ambassador sits fidgety in his chair,

glancing at others’ hands here and there.  

He’s the guy making secret deals and handshakes,

fuckin’ small dudes during bathroom breaks

trying to get the Pakistan man to cooperate,

but the Pakistani’s divided 

between wanting military funding from this ally

and the 80% of his people who think we’re bad guys.

They gotta drop bombs over their own sky 

to keep the U.S. an ally,

we’re a damn hard customer to satisfy, 

although the Afghan insurgency sure did try. 

And they’re doing what they can 

to get in on this hand.

Cuz when the U.S. grabbed 

the Afghan official by the wrist, 

asked him if he held crazy 8s, 

the man said,

“Go fish.”

So the ambassador did.  

Ripped his cards from his hand,

fished until he depleted the whole pond,

and now the fish are all gone.

So he travelled upstream, 

“Iraq, pick a team,

I’m looking for crazy 8s,

do you got what I need?”

“No,” said he, “I’m only carrying these,”

slapped two cards on the table,

that the U.S. mistook for WMDs,

so he called B.S., 

but it turns out,

they’re just 3s. 

The. U.S. shouted at the men,

“I’m looking for crazy 8s,

but I’ll take 6 – 10,

because they’re close to them.

And I need some points to get,

I’m not sure if I have one yet,”

he added under his breath.

6s, 7s, 9s, and 10s

no you’re not 8s,

but we’ll treat you like them.

These actions may not have been in compliance 

with the rules of the game,

but times are changing fast;

there’s no time to explain.

Its not heresy 

if you heard it 

from the heresay, 

you get no say, 

Oh say can you see, 

we will not leave.

Iraq sits in a dark corner in the back,

so long as he holds 

those crude, oily black cards, 

he can play, what the heck.

The U.S. mines them from his hands 

like diamonds,

took em, and sold em, 

so Texas could hold em’,

and Iraq wants to fold, 

but its beyond their control

cuz with the rockets red glare,

the bombs bursting in air,

it gives proof to the night, 

that their oil is still there.

So the U.S. ain’t going anywhere.

Round after round they go on like this,

their families are worried sick,

they got a gambling problem, 

but they all insist,

they’ve got something to win,

return every weekend to match wits,

just card games and bullshit.

Now we’re just catching the end

of this round of hearts.

The Pakistan man collected so many bloody hearts 

this past round, 

he thought about shooting the moon,

but the last time someone tried that,

those Soviet red guys,

the whole solar system almost came down too.

and so the men sit anxious and wait,

this man’s got but one card left to play,

and he’s looking to collect 

so many more hearts

on top of what he discards.

It’s not looking good.

You see, when they traded cards in the beginning,

The Afghan slipped the queen of spades, Osama,

to the Pakistan military official

UBL signed his initials 

like a death wish with the spit of a pistol,

crystallizing towers 

as if a permissible visual,

to represent the destruction 

he witnessed 

under America’s 

dis-missile,

and the residual effect 

cost America billions in debt

exposed the president as inept, 

heartless, 

and exempt.

Let’s not even mention the Geneva Convention,

torture‘s an extension 

of our God-given blessing

to be above the law,

but under God,

united we stand, 

to make you fall.

In the name of justice,

coercive democracy for all.

But then it wasn’t working

and ten years went by,

and everyone was burping up the taste of 

musty beer, the game is still lurking on,

10, 15, nearly 20 fucking years. 

the Pakistan man held his last card in fear,

held it close to his chest

as the American leered,

til the ambassador’s alternate, 

Obama, stepped in and said,

“Give it here.”

ripped the card from his hand. 

“The queen of spades, Pakistan? 

Did you know this was here?”

He shook his head no 

as the cards were all cleared.

The men look at one another.

Scared, but relieved for this bit of closure

and they couldn’t help but ask,

“Does this mean the game’s over?”

“Hell naw,” The American said as he shuffled the deck.

“but the longer we play, 

the closer we’ll get.”