Ode to Aug. 22, page 1

'Twas the night after Isra al Mi'raj, when all through the mosque

Not a Muslim was stirring, not even Ahmadinejad;

Sharia violators were hung on cranes with care,

Since premarital sex was (at least for women) banned everywhere;

Jihadists were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of 21 virgins belly danced in their heads;

And Um Ma in her hijab, and I in my turban,

Had just settled down after drinking contraband bourbon,

When out in the iwan there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the sand dunes below

Gave the lustre of a serene post-nuclear glow,

When, what to my wondering eyes should grasp,

But Muhammad (Praise be to Him), and the winged steed Buraq,

With a little old driver, so filled with aplomb,

I knew in a moment it must be the 12th Imam!

More rapid than eagles his missiles they came,

And they whistled, and routed, as he called them by name;

"Now, Shahab 1! now, Korsar! now, Samid and IRIS!

On, Shahab 3! on Zelzal! on, IRSL-X-4, oh bliss!

To the top of the sky! Over the Zionist wall!

Now dash away! dash away! Annihilate all!"

As dry sand that before the sandstorm fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up past the minarets the missiles they flew,

With payload full of WMDs, and Ahmadinejad too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the dome

The call to Asr as each cleric moaned.

As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,

Down the chimney the Mahdi came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were radiated with ashes and soot;

A bundle of infidel heads he had flung on his back,

And he looked like he conquered the infidels in Iraq.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

But he was soaked with well water, and I thought, ‘Well, how scary!’

No doubt in my mind that this man was the Imam,

As the beard of his chin was as black as jahannam;

With atomic warhead held tight, he gazed out the expanse

His beady eyes on Jerusalem, the warhead from Natanz,

But made with love by North Korean plants;

He had a broad face and a little round stomach,

That shook, when he laughed like a plateful of hummus.

He was chubby and plump, his waist not barren,

He must have been eating well while waiting in Jamkaran;

With a wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

He soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And fueling up the rocket, the warhead he did insert,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the minaret he rose;

He sprang to his steed as his missile launched with a clap,

And away it flew to wipe Israel off the map.

But I heard him exclaim, as he ascended to Firdaws

"Ahmadinejad is a dupable imbecile after all!"