at UN Ambassador John Bolton’s Attempt to Persuade Members of the Security Council That the Next Country We’d Like to Invade Has Weapons of Mass Destruction

Displaying photos to provide a peek
At how these rogues with wicked plans can sneak
Their dirty bombs–each capable, no doubt,
Of taking Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, out–
To secret spots in mobile weapons-vans,
He said, “We must, right now, disrupt their plans.
These dirty bombs require our deterrence.
On that you have my personal assurance.”

A delegate then said, “I can’t agree.
This looks like sanitation work to me.
We’ve previously analyzed that spot.
It’s photographs of garbage trucks you’ve got.”

John Bolton’s face grew red, and then a shade
That no one there had ever seen displayed.
“You say they’re garbage trucks!” he shouted.
“That flunky from the CIA who flouted
My orders mentioned garbage trucks as well,
And now, by Jove, his life’s a living hell:
Yes, undercover’s where he is today.
He’s posing as a beggar in Bombay.

“You’ll see the consequence obstruction yields.
We’ll pulverize your lands, then burn your fields.
That’s right, you turkeys: If you thwart my wishes
We’ll tear your hearts out, feed them to the fishes.
And when we’ve put you through those sticky wickets,
We’ll make you pay for all your parking tickets.”

Enumerating punishments beaucoup,
He then reached down and, taking off his shoe,
Began to pound the table with its heel,
Continuing with threats that seemed surreal,
Plus noises–first a rumble, then a squeal,
And then a bark that sounded like a seal.
The UK delegate was heard to mutter,
“Cor blimey, lads, I fear the man’s a nutter.”

In time, while Bolton prophesied their doom,
The delegates, in silence, left the room,
And left him there, still saying he would slit
Their throats and roast their organs on a spit.
Outdoors, they still could hear the faint tattoo
Of Bolton pounding loudly with his shoe.