A Ballade of Three Richards By Michelle Mairesse His office holds a man-sized safe. Our veep, Part monster, part machine, batteries nearly dead, Steps inside to take a charge of energy to keep At bay deadly metal fatigue and the spread Of Trojan horses. Flashing lights, infra-red, Scan and zap his human thoughts--"Thoughts of sheep," Says he, "and good shepherds feed off sheep they have led." He is not as other men, our veep. With bombs abroad and bombast at home, our veep Inspires in every nation awe and dread. He exposes hidden enemies, doctrines that creep Unbidden into faintest heart and hardest head. "Missiles and bioweapons in every shed Proliferate. Evil advances while you sleep. Without my vigilance you’d all be dead." He is not as other men, our veep. Watch the fearless hunter grip his shotgun, creep Towards a covey of fat quail, penned and grain-fed For this occasion. Blinkered, blunted of beak, The birds try for lift-off with clipped wings outspread. Cheney’s party blasts away at the man-bred Prey. Soon bloody, shredded feathers lie in a heap Beneath the boots of hunters, who count the dead. He is not as other men, our veep. Envoi The veep: "Witches forged me, sublimed with carbonate of lead. Nixon’s tongue and the third Richard’s spleen keep Company with their molten brew. This once said, I am but other men enlarged. Fear me and weep."