The Arts of War

The gods of oil and capital began to change the arts of war
Soon after I was born and saw my first, last global Death Dance Star.
When she began, no single land could yet boast its sole dominance.
Participants could not yet hedge all of their bets well in advance
Because they knew how things would wend long before the first bomb went
Off in lovely shocks and awes at war’s thrillful commencement.

Economies were puny things and one among them had not yet,
Like ours, mushroomed out and then ascended, like a silver jet
Into the skies and, if you like, beyond—right to the blessed moon.
And with that rise, and no surprise, came satellites and soon
We’d also conquer planet Mars and there at once we’d make our mark,
Near-visibly to naked eye, with bases each with baseball park.

The shadow of that great economy, which rose and grew so great,
Made outcomes of all wars predictable, indeed as sure as fate—
Provided that we started them or took a hand—and with that came
Changes even in the name of war; war ceased, became a game.
Money-bound and anchored deeply in oil-wells distant, very far,
All changed, the pulse, the beat, the flavor, yes, even the smell of war.