At first, when people said he’d lied,
He, bristling visibly, denied
A lie or even a mistake
In anything he did to take
This country into a debacle
That, like a nasty streptococcal
Disease, seems endless and resists
The many cures that he insists
Will someday get us unensnared,
While in his speeches he declared
That people saying he misled
Just helps the folks who want us dead.
This Larry King’s a friendly sort,
Who won’t object if guests distort
The truth a bit, so pols all like
To make announcements at his mike.
Though Presidents don’t usually come,
I see Bush there, admitting some
Of what he said was slightly wrong.
And Bush has brought his mom along.
She smiles. He’s sounding slightly whiny
While claiming falsehoods all were tiny–
Just unimportant details. And he
Says otherwise the war’s just dandy.
Our Oprah, stern-faced, draws applause
With questions while he hems and haws.
She clears the mist that still enshrouds
His yellowcake and mushroom clouds.
She asks why, in the name of heaven,
He tied Iraq to 9/11.
Bush stares at her–a hollow stare.
He’s all alone. His mom’s not there.
He then admits, with eyes quite full,
His tales have been all cock and bull.
And Oprah says, “Well, fine. That’s great.
For thousands, though, it comes too late.”