For Paul

Like a teenager driving a VW,
G.W., a poor xerox,
Defenestrates anything
Worth extrapolating,
using a philosophy of stupidity
all his own,
One like no one has known,
In transmission and commission
Of those cardinal projects abroad.

How odd? When Christmas,
The university of love,
The home of the dove,
Peace dressed in red and green,
Slippery with snow under pine and palm trees,
Where bugs burgle tasty key-lime pie tidbits.