The Virus of Nationalism

This poem which I wrote in 2000 seems even more apposite today.

The Virus of Nationalism

Driving to work
I heard it on the radio
a woman speaking in erudite terms
of war
a General speaking of his real experiences
of war
while the blossoms of spring
were sitting pretty on branches
she spoke of the
virus of nationalism
both within and without

Sometimes it creeps up on me
and nips my shin
with razor sharp teeth
I whack it away
with a sharp flick
of the wrist
But it is only partially stunned
always lurking somewhere
in the dark
ready and waiting
to start
a war

while the blossoms of Spring
sit pretty on branches