1.

The fireworks of peace and celebrations go up in the harbour
above the warships. Sailors through town
adored to skint women who, for a job, will cheer their garish flag
One's trippy and bursts into the flat
jawing the air with a knife.
He was disinformed. The pictures, the hype
that rev a plane across the Gulf of Sidra
mill in his baseball head until Intelligence chucks him

2.

Our clown Prime Minister jostles on the steps,
unable to dissemble,
unable to not be loved by Indonesia, France, Chile, China
He troths the Bases, not alienated anymore
He clucks his timely personality
The sin of doubt assails the booths
He holds his broken minister in a camera grip
and weeps a tub
"Your women are beautiful," says the Yank
in relay with his Navy darkening the harbour