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Strategic Reserve

Right before I went to bed
I read there was a threat made,
one of nuclear proportions,
by a man as weak
as the weapon is strong,
an atomic attempt at gaslighting.

Right before I went to sleep
I thought of all the bullies
I have known, their bluster
a front for their cowardice,
threats a way to fuel ego,
strategic reserve running low.

He is really quite pathetic
in a scary sort of way,
capable of total destruction,
fear and damage the helium
to inflate his head so big
that he pulls away, satiated.

Evening is drawing near.

Explosions of a different sort
will occupy him
until time for his next
calculated statement,
the rise and fall of markets
second only to self.

Poetry by Melinda K Zarate