The grandee pokes his head
above the parapet and cries out
earnestly for war,
it is O.K. for him, stuck as he is,
behind the lines, behind the men,
behind his comfy leather chair
and his idealism enhanced by those foolish to believe;
carry the flag boys, show some of that bulldog
breed spirit that made them whimper
in the South Atlantic, jolly good fun
in April spring, he suggests
knowing the belligerent and the uncompromising will follow
and create havoc in the press,
cry God, St. George and whoever is actual charge,
for the Spanish plunder we send them
albeit under the guise of an island so far from home.
The grandee takes the world on from behind
the desk, flesh and blood at one eluding his command
but what do you expect from a politician
made of tin.
Ian D. Hall 2017