Bush & Company

[Could this be happening to America's principal torturer, named with 11 others as a war criminal? He is, after all, living on a property where slaves were once infamously tortured.]

Upon this cursed and tainted land,
The fine historic Rumsfeld home
Harbors the memory of crimes
Committed here in earlier times,

Where restless souls soundlessly roam,
Ghosts silently accusing and
In nightly rituals confused,
As present and past are somehow fused,

Victims, tormentors become as one
In visions and in nightmarish dreams.
For him unpunished still, it seems
An eerie judgment has begun.

I'll give up golf, the president said,
August nineteen, two thousand and three
(Then all the world will have to know
Of my compassion for the dead);

A sacrifice I'll gladly make,
A sober offering for their sake,
Because so many troops were slain,
But not as if it was iu vain.

He still could down a few soft drinks
A distance from those emerald links,
Away out there at hole nineteen
And share some laughs with cronies, though

It's documented he was seen
Driving hard from tee to green,
One autumn day, October thirteen,
Year of our Lord, two thousand and three;

And still more troops are being slain,
While George maintains it's not in vain.