The Eagle and the Bear shake hands across the table;
A hidden mistrust lies dormant in the minds of
Mohair-suited diplomats with wide-eyed smiles.
Volumes of gold-bound facts lie threatening at their fingertips,
The fingertips which can turn the dial or press the button
And cause the bellowing mushroom to cloud the skies.

Blank pads of paper (white virgin landscapes) stare
The gruff voiced appeasers as they grip gold tipped pens.
Ink spills suddenly and destroys the untouched perfection of that
Flawless page, as a corpulent interpreter sips daintily from
The crystal glass; the reflection glinting powerfully across the room.

The heat becomes unbearable and all guzzle water
In an attempt to distinguish their hungry thirsts, Yet
Plans are still kept secret with only polite chatter
Filling the room. A hazy mist of cigar smoke twisting
Upwards to the ceiling fills my mouth
With a taste of the FILTH of man.

K.H.R.