by David Treadway Manning
A wayward in the House of Saud,
he bombed their oil. It sprung a leak,
pleasing the twisted Wahabbi’s god.
Osama might have been a sheik
but chose to treat us with tough love.
Our oil-addiction cured for good,
his true intent? Push came to shove,
the Neo-Cons misunderstood.
Our dearth of philosopher kings demands
reliance on intuitive views.
Dubya held King Faisal’s hand,
plumbed Putin’s soul and found it true.
Faisal looked in Dubya’s soul
and found… a customer! Those SUV’s
won’t run on West Virginia coal.
His oil would help—for modest fees.
The Saudis are like us in many ways.
Their cities are shiny, just like ours,
but they keep their nightshirts on all day
and lop off heads when they go sour.
Someone please help me understand
whom should I hate and whom defend?
Saudi Osama or his Saudi clan,
which enemy of which enemy is my friend?
David Treadway Manning lives in Cary, North Carolina. A Pushcart nominee, his poems have appeared in many journals and five chapbooks, including The Ice-Carver, winner of the Longleaf Chapbook Competition in 2004. His full-length collection, The Flower Sermon, was published by Main Street Rag in 2007.
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