In the land of vacuous bling
In the shadow of statues and kings
There's a small but well insulated house
Where the armchair warrior moves his mouse
The peace dividend sits in folds round his waist
As he engages in a combat he's never faced
One day he's a Soviet, the next a Peshmerga
Whatever his role he's still got a burger
The screen character ducks, rolls and then dies
He pauses the battle to reach for his fries
The Goddess of War beckons, he willingly greets her
Then offers her death with a slice of his pizza
Stephen A. Roberts
