Bush Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

I am not smitten with the man
or what he does, day in day out.
I wonder though, just why there is
a veritable hurricane of lies
blasted like unforgiving arctic wind
at him as if he were the culprit,
a villain extraordinaire, mais ouis.

'Ami', says Schroeder privately,
dumm, ein Texasbauer, peasant
with stetson and that longhorn shit
for brain, no European would conduct
himself or this great orchestra
with such incompetence, no way.

'All hurricanes can now be safely blamed
on George, he did not sign the paper',
a fruitcake by the name of Trittin,
says 'Amischwein you did not do
what all the people wanted, your neglect
of the environment has brought
you punishment, so well deserved.'

Al Qaida adds 'it is the wrath of God'.
Another voice wants to be heard,
somewhat anonymously, it says
much money was withheld from New Orleans
to pay for warring in Iraq, and troups,
most of them sent to battle overseas,
and no one left to help those bastards,
who were, by their own frank admission
black as the night, and sins occur,
as we all know, most likely in the dark.

Four years ago the editors of SA
predicted a disaster of unknown proportions
was waiting in the Gulf of Mexico.
They did not mention that the president
would be committing this indictable offence.