Hair slicked back under his black hat
with petroleum and snake oil,
the Jingo Kid,
Pentagon Budget spurs jangling
on his Upper Class
kick-the-rest-of-us-in-the-ass boots,
swaggered on to the A. Lincoln's deck
disgracing our navy pilots' flight uniform,
making it no more than
an overstuffed caricature of a codpiece.
As he taunted the enemy
he and his NeoCon posse had created
so they could play cowboys and Indians
in their crusading range war of choice,
he smirked,
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