Masters of War

Masters of War

The door closes. The screen descends
On which shall be projected plans
For the incineration of millions.
The first slides are contextual. 
Low-level staffers dip in between
Their masters like plovers,
Arms trembling from the weight
Of migraine-bright carafes of coffee.
Now let’s get to the meat of it. 
Someone suggests… yes, 
The staffers are asked to leave. 
Next slide please. Missile paths 
Arc almost beautifully over
The curvature of the earth, 
Her very body. Next, a list
Of likely cities, cities where even
Now children are walking solemnly
To school, leashed to their teachers
And together, where a young woman
Whose greatest joy are the plants
She talks to every morning checks
Instagram under her high desk.
Next. Now let’s run through all
Possible scenarios. The giant oval
Mahogany table gleams like a cockroach. 
Not many papers. Just cups of coffee
And hands like albino tarantulas. 
Oh, that’s the end. Any questions?