There once was a briefing on high
Where a captain looked up to the sky,
Said, “Trump’s heaven-sent spark
Will set Iran in the dark—
It’s Armageddon, oh my!”
A sergeant sat biting his lip
At talk of apocalypse trip,
While more than a score
Filed complaints—then some more—
From bases in every branch’s grip.
From thirty installations they cried,
“Why’s command so uncritically wide-
Eyed with glee at the thought
Of a war heaven-bought,
With Revelation as guide?”
Said Weinstein, “Each call that we field
Has the same starry zealot revealed:
They rejoice in the fray
As the End Times’ display—
Every missile divinely unsealed.”
“They’re delighted how graphic it grows,
How the bloodshed the prophecy shows;
They can’t wait for the scene
From Saint John’s fevered dream—
As if carnage’s how glory flows.”
But beware, cried a voice on TikTok,
With a fury that quite shook the clock:
“If you cheer for this fight
In messianic delight,
You’re a monster!”—and feelings went shock.
The MAGA crowd grumbled, “Unfair!
Such language! Such heat in the air!”
They can dish with a grin,
But when fury comes in,
Their own outrage is fragile as prayer.
If Congress would summon that flame—
Though with fewer expletives to name—
They might stiffen their spine,
Show some backbone and brine,
And seem less like they’re losing the game.
© 2026 Glen Farber. All Rights Reserved.
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