In Quantico’s halls with the flags all in rows,
They summoned the generals. Why? Hell, no one knows.
No agenda, no outline, no brief to prepare
Just “Get here, all leaders. Park it right there.”
First, we heard Hegseth, his scowl and scoff:
“Your bellies are bulging, your standards are off!
No beards, no woke, no DEI crap
If you’re not all on board, then resign, fold your cap.”
Then Trump waddled in with his worn-thin complaint:
“Our cities are war zones, all lawless and bleak.
So we’ll train in the suburbs, the malls, and the streets,
With troops on patrol and dissent in retreat.”
The top ranks sat frozen, they all stared ahead,
Stone-faced and neutral, no nods to consent.
They knew the old rule: no hint, no pretense,
No orders should bend to a party’s defense.
“And lest you go leaking, or dare to complain,
There’s NDAs ready, with polygraph pain.”
Could’ve been email, or Zoom at the least
Instead we got theater, to fatten the beast.
Like pawns on a board, all staged for the frame,
A stunt for the cameras, a national shame.
No counsel, no substance, no strategy clear
Just postures of power, loud, empty, severe.
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