Protocol
The world that draws its lustre from
The sun upon the moon
Must save the noble cluster bomb
Or perish very soon:
How shall it have its claim to fame
Unless it has the means to maim,
To scar, to blast, to cut to shreds
The enemies it hates?
How may it sleep inside its beds
Unless it demonstrates
That it can blow to smithereens
The children hoping for their teens
And leave beneath the soil or sand
Such simple souvenirs?
To rip the skin and boil the hands
And lacerate the ears
Is honestly a simple joy
That every girl and every boy
Deserves. Why should we ban it, sirs?
It’s not to be discussed:
We need attractive canisters
To blow them all to dust.
We need, and there can be no doubt,
Incendiaries to hang about.
Who cares what their intentions are?
Let’s praise their fine designers.
Necessity’s invention’s ma,
And mines are meant for minors.
Let every coming generation
Give cluster bombs their veneration.
