his soldiers march in comical precision
punching the air like a million Mike Tysons
they parade giant missiles through town
on the nightly news we see maps
drawn with concentric circles
told not to worry
his nukes can only hit
Hawaii
or
Alaska
but when they call him crazy
I can't help but think of another son
who lost his father
and that mousetrap did not end well
[Day 8 of the poem-a-day marathon for April's National Poetry Month.]
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