Drink With My Friend
(To Benedict Iheanacho)
 
I've got e-mail from the jaws of anaconda,
you pick-typed it in poor light I imagine,
on a laptop in an American tent in Iraq.
By silence on the destruction of Fallujah,
you avoid my `politics of utopia'.
 
Let's write peace, not bullets, not shells.
 
You should be in Dallas with your wife,
son, and horses, if you've learnt to ride.
 
And I crave a liquid dinner with you,
one of those student days kind of binging.
Restore our historical disagreements over beer,
on how things are, how things ought to be.
 
We must drink again someday, by the graces
of Bush and God. We must drink again. To life!