he blew the cold war hot
and dreamed of nuclear conflict,
as if a on the movie screen:
The sad list of casualties rolled in,
some millions in New York City
some millions in L.A.
a single pilot dive bombing Moscow.
He presented the posthumous
Medal of Honor
to the weeping widow with stoic sons
as a grateful nation looked on.
He dreamed of pitting aging battleships
against silent submarines
the massive guns searched for targets,
the submarines glided ever nearer.
He honored the brave sailors
who fought against the odds
drowning men and sinking ships,
the words he spoke so firmly.
Planes flew in and never returned
ships disappeared in balls of fire
soldiers sickened and fought on;
the president raised his hands.
He pointed to the wall
he pointed to the the monitor
the green screen enveloped him
and still he dreamed.
The barbarians were at the gates
the capitol in ruins
a ragged few patriots
against the Mongol hoard.
The president dreamed he stood firm
as the republic crumbled
his powers unchecked saved the day
he retired to his farm.
To await the day when once again
his nation would call
and he'd sow the salt at Carthage
as Scipio had done.