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There once was a Tuesday so grim,
With primaries looking quite dim,
But instead of vote counts
Or Trump’s loud mounts,
A raid reel was ready to spin.

A chopper at dawn took to sky,
With soldiers and rotor wash cry,
What mission? Unclear.
Was it victory? Mere
Thirty seconds of “don’t ask us why.”

The Command said, “Decisive!” and bold,
Of narco-terrorists wicked and cold,
Classified deeds,
And partnership creeds—
With objectives conveniently untold.

They toasted Ecuador’s might,
For courage and valor in fight,
While critics at home
Said ethics had flown
Far off in the dead of the night.

A hundred-plus boats met their fate,
In strikes that were labeled “too late,”
No proof in the file,
Just targets by mile—
And lawyers cried, “That’s not the state!”

“Extrajudicial,” they said,
“Civilians can’t lawfully be dead
For crimes they might do,
Or suspicions untrue”—
But the highlight reel rolled on ahead.

Four billion lined pockets with ease,
While speeches invoked overseas
The terror and vice—
A rhetorical spice
That dripped with imperial sleaze.

A comic imagined a sign:
“Enlist for a faraway line—
For paranoid thirst
Put your body in first!”
And wondered who’d finally resign.

© 2026 Glen Farber. All Rights Reserved.