Sixth Story: Depository

Cuban snipers, shots from a grassy knoll—
Crowds, Commies, handled by remote control;
That cheap mail-order Italian rifle:
Strange trajectories of truth to stifle . . .
Dancing bullets; dead brains with bodies switched
Witnesses threatened, Feds who later snitched;
Intelligence decentralized: the man
An obstacle to their warmonger plan.

The spooky trails fan out toward Vietnam
As villages combust in flaming palm
Then back to factories that crank out arms
That drive the starving peasants off their farms
To keep our military budgets flush
By giving us insurgent troops to crush.

Oswald’s time behind the iron curtain
Leads us to admit: one thing’s uncertain—
Who rewarded Lee for his defection,
Set him up, yet still escapes detection?
When poor Lee Harvey’s payday rolled around
He cashed his final paycheck underground.

So here’s to sexy starlets lying dead
And pert reporters silenced in their bed.
And wouldn’t you, oh taxpayer, love to know
Where trillions of your hard-earned dollars go.


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