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Paul F. McCann

THE SMOKING GUNS  

March in the watershed was crowded.
The year was two thousand and three.
The US troops were sent to Iraq
to combat the enemy.

The tempers frayed as the dictator said,
“We are ready to fight.”
As the inspections team hunted the ground,
for missiles cold in flight.

The USA held back the soldiers
who had come to make their stand.
As talks and tactics played card games,
A Veto reshuffled their hand.

Nothing got in and nothing got out,
And nothing was done at all.
It was deadlock in the desert
It was costing a fortune tall,

With each tick of the clock
half wages was for no war at all.
Half paid to do the job,
soldiers beat their heads against a brick wall.

The war had come to school
and the lessons were to reform the ranks.
There was another price to pay
before they could roll out the tanks.

Keep the soldiers back they said,
let the inspections team do their job.
It will be done and in time you will see,
An answer please dear God.

Too often they have sent us to fight.
As they sit on their behinds.
Wars are raging in the world today.
They have pulled down all the blinds.

They have shut up shop and dug in deep
and armed an unruly mob.
Soldiers have a right to do their job.
How much more time can they rob?

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