With the coming to Wash' of the King of all Kings,
And the O. Office curtains turned into gold wings,
We note the new turning of History's old wheel,
Which giving fair warning still squeaks a great deal,
And informs us though oracles come dime a dozen,
You'd well take a tip from your fallen cousin.
Fallen, that is, beside a path that's well-worn,
Exceptionalist-strewn and narcissist-torn,
Where the king fiddles on amidst rising flames,
Or plays golf, or eats Fox, or grabs nearby dames,
While uniformed folks make quiet arrangements:
The government and people's final estrangements.
The wheel's last turn was when Reagan started
To sail those deficits to waters uncharted,
And moved the rich up to the levers of power,
Making sure billionaires have their finest hour,
And on the Vineyard brighten Bill Clinton's day,
Or flatter the missus for when she makes hay.
9-11 started the wheel's current turn,
Providing the Army with money to burn,
Which along with the trenchcoats in their high-tech vests,
Are nudging th' Establishment out of their nests.
Trump gen'rals galore who besides to fill posts,
Prepare not to be White House guests but its hosts.
Which is why, looking back, you can see their whole kick:
The Towers, the terror, the unending-war shtick.
The point wasn't Saddam or pipelines Afghan,
Though these sure appealed to Dick and The Man.
No, the Pentagon has yearned for and quietly pined
That chair in the Oval with no pols to mind.
No doubt it'll take them an admin or two,
To swallow the loudmouths, to themselves accrue
The reins, the strings and the whole shooting match,
So no matter who runs it's just the same ratch:
To dominate the earth as dreamt Alexander,
Though pure Yankees call him their in-chief commander.
(Article changed on March 24, 2017 at 15:24)