Low Concept

Do I Dare Disturb Kuwait?

Beneath Saddam Hussein’s mask hid the soul of a poet.

On Jan. 3, the New York Times reported that “Saddam Hussein in [his] final days turned to poetry. …  The poem … is his rallying call to be sounded from the grave.” We were moved to respond in kind:

Saddam at the Bat

The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the old regime that day:
The score stood four to two, with but Saddam left to slay,
So then when Uday bought it first, and Qusay did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the Baathists of the game.

A shackled few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to the hope that the Americans might protest;
They thought, “If only Saddam could but get a stay—
We’d put up even dinars now, that Saddam could get away.”

There was ease in Saddam’s manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Saddam’s bearing, though no smile upon his face.
And when, responding to the jeers, he lightly said, “Screw you,”
No Shiites in the crowd could doubt ‘twas Saddam, through and through.

Oh, somewhere in this troubled land the sun is shining bright,
The infidels are blowing up, and my heart, though stopped, is light;
And everywhere around the world mujahideen do sprout,
And so there’s joy in Baghdad, though your Leader has checked out.