The Death Of Diplomacy

The diplomat is feeding ducks

In the park behind the station

His offspring circumnavigate him

Crying nation unto nation

His partner I can’t help but notice

Sits elsewhere and alone

And all the while I can’t help wonder

If everything’s all right at home

From the barbecue’s eternal flame

To Happy Meals in holy lands

His head stuck up his own behind

Or else buried in the sand

It’s a losing battle, an unequal struggle

All of this spilt milk and crying

But he need only raise his eyes

To see his sacred cows are dying

Photo by Anchor Lee on Unsplash